Go Here Now.

So I was gone, back, and leaving again (promise there's more to come!). But for now, just go here now. Chop Chop, Click Click.

Dear Myself,

I'm in need of some head space, therefore I'm driving out tomorrow morning in solitude to that particular stretch of sand and those particular mossy trunks that are etched like runes across my soul. I'm taking:

The new sketchbook and a slew of pencils.

My field guide to North American Birds.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, by Annie Dillard (which is good for a reread pretty much any time).

A new book of poetry (Owls and Other Fantasies, but Mary Oliver).

My camping knife.

The mundane necessities (down sleeping bag, tent for pitching, a half-pound of coffee - the coffee hiatus is on hold for a couple days - a bunch of turnips from the farmer's market).

... and precious little else.

I'll see you in a few days.

Love,

UmberDove

Howdy!

Because somedays, you just need to climb a mountain to see the world from the top.

T.G.I.M.

Yes. You read that correctly. Thank God It's Monday. I'm ready for a new week in a serious way.

Last week was a roller coaster, a rickety kind like the Giant Dipper that requires a full-time handyman to daily walk the tracks, pounding in nails that have wobbled loose under the weigh of ancient carts and sticky-fingered children. The kind where you climb ever higher, face to the cumulous clouds above, higher than the kites and gulls and errant helium balloons, then with a swift jerk are thrown to the earth, screaming, twisting below swooping tracks, into the abyss. I have vacillated, on the hour, between hope and hopelessness, between confidence and determination and then despair.

It left my stomach reeling. But that was then, and this is now.

New Week

New Thoughts.

New Actions.

(Luck Bowl, from Claylicious, another fabulous Happy 30th gift from my BC)

The "Save The TaTa's 2010" Update:

Last week I hit a bit of a wall with my care tangled up in miles of bureaucratic red tape, caught up in statewide budget cuts that said "I'm sorry, we will not be able to get that paperwork signed for 2-3 more weeks so just sit tight, ok." So I made an appointment with a local alternative medicine doctor (Hey. K. You know who you are. I love you.) who I swear, was sent straight from the heavens down to earth to see me. She helped set me up not only with some non-Western medicine options* and an amazing research resource for natural options, but with a local surgeon who practices HERE IN TOWN, who is nationally esteemed as one of the best breast cancer surgeons in the country (no kidding. The woman was head of staff in breast surgery at Stanford, Ca. until she decided to downscale and open her own practice. Amazing). I have an appointment with her this afternoon to discuss and am crossing my fingers so tightly I've almost lost circulation.

I'm really hopeful. Because this waiting game is no fun.

Whew.

Sorry for such a drab and informational post! This past weekend I finally finished setting up my studio complete with mosserariums, photographs from my Mme. and a Brother Grim to keep me company. It's time to paint in a bad way. But really in a good way. The best way in fact.

WHAT DID YOU DO THIS WEEKEND? TOP THREE THINGS... go!

* Strange little fact about me: I'm terribly allergic to pretty much ALL pain medications stronger than tylenol. My system just says no, no pills, please and thank you. I'll be returning those to you shortly along with a whole gauntlet of other fun experiences. That said, when looking down the barrel of a scalpel, I'd like to have some options other than deep breathing. *

My Heart Belongs to the Sea

Writing in the Dawn

- From my sketchbook writings this morning, May 7th 2010 -

When I drove out this morning I couldn't tell if the velvet curtain of night was withdrawing across the sea voluntarily or if the pale fingers of dawn were sweeping it aside. The water rose up and mingled with sky in a seamless sheet of gray, a feat seen only by myself and the shorebirds. I've not known a morning this mild since our arrival, where the trees remained stoic in stillness and the tangles of my mane rested silently upon my shoulders.

*****

This morning I was seen, truly seen by a seal who gazed into me unblinking, great wells of soul shining and bobbing just above the surface of the sea. I can think of no better place to release than in this place of solitude. I crave peace as hungrily as the gulls who crack open a thousand slick mussels in search of sustenance. I sit upright and sing Om three times. The reverberation hangs in the air, shimmering and floating Westward.

Today marks the first day I've opened my sketchbook since I received That phone call. I've carried it close, hands laced around it's broken spine, holding two full years of history, tracing the softly worn page corners, feeling the heft of paper between the pads of my fingers. But until today I've felt silenced. Mute. As though my soul retreated to nurse it's wounds, leaving my mouth dry and empty. I've missed my life so dearly. I've missed myself. I've missed the flow of light pouring from my sternum, illuminating the images hidden on still blank pages.

There is no back, only forward (the power of your future is in this present moment). My heart is ripe for a revolution. Sing freedom. Sing now. When I watch the birds wheel and dive and soar upward over the ocean surface, I understand that movement in my gut. I could dance to their song if only gravity would release me.

May, you're a tease