I Have A Road

A couple of Sunday’s ago, my husband said he wanted me to see some of the new sculptures around town.

Yes, please!

We drove around a bit and talked, and then he turned towards our land.

Here’s the thing.  It turns out that trying to build a house is monumentally stressful and complicated.  That, on top of my medical mayhem of the past few years, and my frustrated efforts to get back to metal, have made me a ball of frustration and anxiety.  Any time I can go out to our piece of dirt and sit in the wind and watch the light on the mountains, I’m a happy woman.  I really had no expectation than to do just that.  Sit and sigh and feel peaceful.

Our patch of land is old pasture.  It sits alongside the highway and is rather oddly shaped.   The dirt access track is long and narrow.  There are two layers of barbed wire fence, with scrubby Russian olive trees in between, all running along the highway.  Our future house will sit at the back edge of the property where it widens out.  There won’t be any houses in front of us, and we will have a clear sight line to the mountains.

I’d been frustrated all summer that I couldn’t go out and sit where we’d pounded stakes to mark the boundaries of the house last fall.  Me walking?  In heat?  No.  I’d have passed out and been gnawed on by a coyote.  Or ground squirrel.  At the very least a spider would have touched me, and THAT IS NOT OKAY!  I was disappointed, but safety won out over reckless happiness.

My husband pulled up to the gates and jumped out to unchain and open them.  And behold!

My dirt track?

It’s a REAL road!  Not just some gravel scattered, but a real honest to goodness professionally made road, with conduit waiting to be buried along side.  For what?  I’m not sure.  I have visions of a guard shack and maybe a force field.

I can be a little antisocial.

We drove out to where the house will be, and joy!  No weeds threatening to burst into flame.  No bumps and dips.  Just smooth, solid road.  With a little bit of snow for excitement.


We wandered around, and our presence set off secret alarms that brought a few of our neighbors over.   We’ve been having the worst time connecting with a builder, and they had thoughts on that matter.  USEFUL ones.  They were lovely and welcoming.

I’ve been on the land in full daylight, and at the gates in full dark, but I’ve never been out at dusk.  The mountains are to the east, and watching the sun go down is wonderful, but then turning and looking at the mountains as the light shifts and caresses?  Perfection.

That is the view my studio space will look out to.   I will be able to watch the weather move across the sky.  See the mountains change through the seasons.  It feels like home.  I touched back the feeling I had the first time we walked the property AFTER we had put an offer in.  I was worried that I’d get to where the house would be, and feel disappointment.  No.  I turned around that day, and felt a jolt of pure glee!  Home.

I have a road.  I can drive out on it whenever I want.

If it takes us 16 years to build a house (sigh…), I may ask for a tent and bug spray and at least visit now and then.  On my ROAD.

My husband is…so many trite comments arise.  He’s the BEST!  I’m so lucky!  He’s so good to me!  These things are ALL true!  Adding in that he’s blazingly smart, and funny in a sharp and sideways fashion that makes conversations with him endlessly interesting.  He’s generous, and quiet, and he knows I’ve been struggling…

There have been so many changes in my life over the past few years.  Most of the distressing bits have been attached to my health status.  I have been experiencing improvements, but there is always this thread of distress running behind it.  MS is tricksy.  There is no specific prognosis.  It pounces according to its own schedule, and yes, I’m writing about it as though it has a mind and intention of its own.  There are interesting treatments being tested, but I’m not likely to qualify for those.  I just have to wait and see.

I’m not very good at that.

We had a change of insurance in October that messed with my calm.  With specialists, specialty drugs, preauthorizations, changes in deductibles, doctor appointments, along with learning to use my cane and the devastating moment when I opened my DMV envelope to find my handicapped parking placard that was categorized as “permanent” and doesn’t expire until 2025?  It’s been a lot.  I’ve not been able to focus on jewelry for more than half an hour every three weeks (at best).  It feels tenuous.  I’m afraid to invest, for fear that my body will decide to be punitive, or that I will have to spend another three days untangling a medication situation that is leaving me WITHOUT medication until the byzantine process, that no one fully understands, finally unlocks.

I’ve been angry.  And I’ve been frustrated.  I’ve been despairing.  And I’ve wondered what I’m even doing.

New insurance has redeemed itself in the form of a case management nurse.  She told me of a program that I would qualify for that provides eight weeks of once a week, each, therapy and coaching.  It’s designed for stressed out sick people.  That would be me.

I’ve spoken with both my coach and my therapist now.  I’m in the messy and crying stage.  Unpacking my feelings and working out better ways to deal with them at the practical level.  To regain pieces of my life that have been pushed out.

I’ve been staring at the reading material and charting my mood.  Mood sheets.  They are hilarious, because they want to know at what time of day I feel which not-so-great emotion, and my emotions chase across my mind the way clouds do across a Nevada sky.  Quickly and dramatically.

One of my goals is to touch metal.  Just a little bit.  For a few minutes here and there.  To not worry about a masterpiece.  Just to get the feel back.  It’s harder than I thought it would be.  I don’t fully understand my reluctance.

But I have a road.  I have people smoothing the way for me.  Encouraging me.




I haven’t cut rings for chain in a couple of years.  My power saw requires sacrifices to the Saw Goddess, and I was not inclined to displease her and have bits of blade flying at my head, (it’s happened).  Instead, I got out my jewelers saw and cut by hand.  Rather badly.  I mangled about an inch of one coil, and that ended up in the recycle jar.

But I cut rings!  Yay!  I want to get better at cutting by hand.  In my fantasies, I will someday be working in 22k gold and would prefer not to risk mutilating it at high speed.

These are fairly chunky 18g fine silver links.  They are currently rattling about in my tumbler with a bit of water and soap to get the wax and any oils from my hands off of them.  My husband asked what they were going to become, and I think I’ll give a single loop-in-loop a go.  There may be enough here for a bracelet.  It’s a scale of chain that doesn’t delight me, but the larger wire gauge means that I’m less likely to destroy the links under a flame.  Plus it will be fast to weave, and I am anxious to complete a project.

It has been way too long.

I hope my next post shows properly fused links.  I’ve not lit my torch in a very long time, either, and expect there will be ring casualties.

Destined for single loop-in-loop chain.

Destined for single loop-in-loop chain.

Random updates:

My vision is still iffy on a day to day basis.  I’m receiving botox injections for the migraines.  The next set will be my third, scheduled for later in October, and I’m told that the third set is the one that makes the major difference.  I’ve noticed a decrease in intensity from the last set, and find the botox experience very strange.  The injections are in my forehead, around my head, down my neck, and across my shoulders.  My headache specialist warned me that my relaxing muscles would hurt.  She wasn’t lying.  Not being able to crinkle my forehead is very strange as well, and I’m still not sure why people do this on purpose.

My optician and eye doctor have been WONDERFUL in working out ways to help me see to work with metal.  I have a set of reading glasses that has been world altering.  I can see detail again.  My optician also made me a set of progressive glasses that have a deep rose tint on them.  I was concerned that staring into a torch flame would give me blinding migraines.  This lens treatment was designed for people with epilepsy at the Moran Eye Center in Salt Lake City, Utah.  I still get incapacitating migraines a few times a month, and wearing that set is a life saver.  I don’t get the spike of agony through my skull when I look at a screen or dare to venture under my kitchen fluorescent lights.  I wore the reading glasses to cut my rings, and will wear the rose colored pair to fuse them.

My MS treatment is going well.  Good days and bad, of course.  I broke down and got a cane and felt conflicted about needing it — as though it is a public statement that I’m not working properly.  I’ve realized that what it really represents is independence.  Being able to go out in the world without worrying about falling off a curb, or lurching at a display of breakable things.  I went into a local saddle shop about a month ago and was weaving all over the place.  The lady working was very sweet and expressed concern for me.  I explained that I was not drunk, I was just rebellious and wouldn’t use a cane.  It made me realize that I was being silly.  A cane is a positive addition to my life, not a negative one.

Plus it helps that my husband chose a lovely wooden one for me.  See?  It’s pretty.  The handle is very subtly modeled for a woman’s right hand.   I suspect I will end up with a cane wardrobe.

I've discovered that it hangs quite nicely from the countertop by itself, without having to tie it to the drawer handle.

I’ve discovered that it hangs quite nicely from the countertop by itself, without having to tie it to the drawer handle.

My husband had my initials put on it! Perfect.

My husband had my initials put on it! Perfect.

Our new house progress is glacial.   We are still in the bid process.   We will hopefully be able to meet a builder that our architect has been speaking to next month.  I’m looking forward to it.  It is unlikely that anything will begin until spring, but I really hope we can move forward.




My MS lesions have gotten better.  Not just stable, but better.

My left retina has healed/I can read again!  That’s not a direct cause and effect, more a happy surprise and a lot of hard work on the part of my Most Excellent Optician.

Nitrous should be piped into MRI machines.

Building a house takes FOREVER.  Mine is still drawings and no walls.  Patience.

I’m learning what patience means.

My hair is turing white and people compliment me on my highlights!

I will be getting a cane soon, because lurching around like a drunk person does not fool others into thinking I’m fine.

People are kind, even when I’m lurching around like a drunk person.

I am a cheap drunk!  I had about two tablespoons of rum a few weeks ago and was happily tipsy.

I will no longer predict when I will get back into metal.  It’s going to happen, but this past year has been a BEAST!  I’m learning that whole eye roll inducing “be in the moment” concept against my will.

Having accepted, mostly, that my body will not cooperate with schedules, I’m much happier, and metal ideas are beginning to form.  Turning those ideas into obligations seems a fine way to make those ideas flee in terror.

Cats are therapy.  Except for when they are being furry demons.

I am stunningly good at procrastination.

I can read again!  Did I say that?  I think I said that.  But I can.  And that also means I can see tiny seams in fine silver wire and aim a torch at them.  Magic!

My short term memory is crap.

I can read again!

I know, that was lame.

I am taking photos with my new camera.  See that tranquil lady on the Snake River in Twin Falls, Idaho?  I want to be more like her.

I forget to do things that make me happy.  Enough of that.

Books, cats, metal, camera.  Husband, friends, medical team, strangers.  A certain ginger.  Mountains.  Maybe a house.


Writing What I DON’T Know

Power lines running along the corner of our property.  Our future.

Words pile up in me.  I have lovely friends who let me drown them in words, but lately, I have been trying to corral them a tiny bit in a journal.  Today’s prompt was “Write What You Know.”  This past year has very much been about what I don’t know.  What I don’t understand, what I don’t know will happen, what I don’t know I feel.  And writing about those doubts and confusions and FEELINGS has been more productive for me than being Definitive and Certain.  I’ve learned that relying on the definitive and certain ends up making me feel more groundless than ever.

I’ve neglected writing here mostly as this was intended to be my jewelry blog and I haven’t made anything in ages.  I’ve been fiddling with some things, but I’ve not sat down at my bench with purpose.  My body is still misbehaving, and I don’t want to start yet another entry with, “I’m about to…” and not deliver!

I will say this:  I feel like my situation is getting better, it’s just taking time.  And thank you all for being patient and staying invested.  I am full of gratitude, and I hope, at some unspecified point (sigh), to make something pretty and/or interesting again.

I do have plans.

One of them involves miles of (probably) loop-in-loop chain that I will be making available to other metalsmiths to use with their own work.  I will also be putting it together in my own pieces, but they are likely to be all about the chain, and won’t include other embellishment.  I’ve not worked out if I want to start a sales situation again.  I suspect I will just post things to see if interested people materialize, and go from there.

Another plan involves round little scales woven together to make bendy armor-like pieces.  They will be experimental and weird and some of them may go live with others merely because my frustrations in figuring them out will make me scowl if I lay eyes on them again.  They are labor intensive, and it took me a lot of time to figure out the math on them, and then how to fabricate them in such a way as to minimize waste.  They are fascinating little things.  And hammers (!) are involved.  ALWAYS a good thing.

And pringles.  I made a mistake in link sizes a few years ago — fused fine silver links.  The math was not correct, and I had a pile of rings that I just didn’t want to give up on as I’d spent a fair chunk of time making them.  So I took a hammer (!) and mashed them flat, but not in a tidy way — in a way that left behind texture.  That was interesting, and as they are fine silver and were still a tiny bit bendy, I then formed them into a pringle-like shape.  The math is still wrong and my visions for how they should go together are not feasible in that size — but thoughts and plans.

Fiddling and playing.  Exploring what I don’t know.

In other news, my house plans are in their final stages, and will be going out to bid soon.  Fingers crossed that those numbers don’t make me pass out in horror.  I really would love to be able to build it, and have my dedicated studio space with a dutch door, lots of windows, and a view to the mountains.  Just off of my magical hallway with built in bookcases, walls for art, and a desk — my hallway that ends in a window seat with a view of sky.

Dreams of that have sustained me.

Stealth Mode

I’ve not written in a long time.

It will be very obvious as I go along that I am out of practice.  

I haven’t known what to say as I stumble along with this adjustment to my MS diagnosis. At first I felt relief, and then it became befuddlement, and after that came anger twisting towards despair. I didn’t want to inflict this excruciating process on everyone. I tortured a few of my friends and my husband, instead.  

They deserve presents.  

The drug company from which I get my injections sent a nurse, N., to my house to train me on its use a month or so ago. I liked her immediately.  She’s lovely and warm and funny and smart and explained things clearly to me.  I tend to view medical appointments — excepting my eye doctor who lets me rattle on about whatever — as Getting Down To Business: Thou Shalt Not Cry.  In the time frame of my woe, that first visit from N. fell somewhere between befuddlement/mild optimism and don’t talk to me/seething anger.  

She got me to cry.  

N. came to visit again today (oops, yesterday), and she let me drag her around my house and natter at her about the jewelry I used to make and the jewelry idea that was in the embryonic stages of development before I just STOPPED functioning on that level. She looked at my tools and at my old work and at the start I’d made on a new direction before the anti-convulsants of late last year sent me sideways. She looked at the bulletin board over my bench and asked me when I had last arranged it. It’s been a couple of years, honestly. I’ve added to it here and there, but not given it a full reconsideration. She said that maybe it was time to do that — to refresh the energy. 

I will be doing that.  

But before we got to my bench — sacred space for me and not one I share that often (photos are one thing, touching my stuff is quite another) — she asked me what made me most afraid.  The answer was hard to speak, although it came to me immediately — being a burden to my husband. He’s never given me cause to think he felt burdened and has amazed me with his thoughtfulness through all of this.  I know that such notions are unworthy of who he really is and are born of my own insecurity.  I can let go of that.  

She reached deeper. And I allowed myself to see, less in the glancing way of denial that has been my recent habit, that much of my fear and frustration and anger is tethered to the possibility that I’ve lost my creative self. It was hard won for me to accept the idea of “artist” as identity. And that identity began to slip away from me again in the face of I’M NOT MAKING ANYTHING.  This disease is in my brain and spinal cord. It is unpredictable. It makes me tired. My vision is not always clear, my balance is generally terrible, and I have pain. I’m tired of my own thoughts on the matter. It is easier to ghost through the night and sleep during the day and not face the delicious problems of figuring out how to make when I don’t know if I will have the stamina to immerse myself in the process. When I’ll have to stop, because food?  Sleep?  Injection?  When I run into the inevitable snarl of discovering that what works in theory is a different thing entirely when I attempt to put it into practice.

My husband bought me a new chair that is designed for jewelry makers. It is very, very nice and probably the most comfortable chair I’ve had in my life.  He buys all of my amazing tools.  (Hammers!) This, though, made me feel unworthy. I’ve not made anything complete in well over a year. It has made me question my status — my validity as a jewelry maker. He didn’t see it that way, and still refers to the room in our house-to-be-built as my “studio” when I’ve reverted to calling it my “office”.

If not the “guest room” when I’m feeling particularly defeated.  

And then I feel guilty, because I’LL STILL HAVE A GUEST ROOM AND THAT IS A LUXURY!

My friend C. is also my optician and she understands this loss of making, and what it does to that sense of identity. She and my eye doctor have plans for how to modify a pair of my glasses to hopefully minimize the icepick stab of migraines brought on by using my torch. But if it doesn’t, she and I talked about how maybe the way to handle this is to schedule my torching for times when I can have the residual migraine without them interfering with other important things. It was not something I’d thought of, but it makes a certain sense.  Weighing the physical misery of a planned migraine against the psychic misery of not DOING anything?  Migraine wins.  Book it.  

It’s on my agenda to drag her out to our land when I get the next set of plans.  I want to show her where my STUDIO will be and how it will look out to the mountains.  And where we will be able to hang out and talk about any old thing.  

My friend S. said to me recently that when it all gets to be a bit too much, remind myself…nothing is happening right this minute. Or even right this second, if that is what it takes. I’ve found myself doing just that when that little flutter of anxiety takes hold. Or saying it within the press of impotent fury. It helps tremendously to take that space, that little interruption in the flow of distress, and rebalance perspective.

My friend R. understands so well how keeping the lid on the chaos of my emotions is a full time job, and that looks are deceiving. Where others may think I’ve got this covered — she can see when I don’t, and she always has calm and wise words to help me stay human.

She and S. both see the fraying before even I do.  

Those are just a few of the people who have offered me graces and kindnesses in the face of this state of affairs.  It’s shocking to me, sometimes, when people do. I bumble along in life thinking that I am unnoticed.  

I tell myself that I’m not dying and should be grateful. This is self created drama, and my feelings are overblown. And then someone is sober at me. A doctor sort, usually, but sometimes not. Sometimes someone unexpected, like my architect who immediately knew what she needed to adjust in the plans to accommodate the possibility that this may not be an easy journey for us. Because it is, after all, us, and not just me.

A few weeks ago, my niece came over and asked if we could go to the mountains. My husband came along. We had such a lovely day. We’ve not gone in such a long time, because I’ve not felt steady in driving so far and then being hot and tired and away from cell phone service. I did not realize how much I missed that time, in that place, with those two people. It was the filling of a well I hadn’t realized was running alarmingly low.

I took pictures. See? Just one here, because my camera and I need to become reacquainted.

Relaxing with J. by the creek.

Today (yesterday…) I babbled on at N. about this bit of process and that bit of problem solving, and which metal I liked better and how K. would EVENTUALLY get her little flame painted copper bits to use in her own artwork, and how x was time consuming, and how I didn’t want to make y any longer. She looked at my pieces and said they were beautiful and I am talented, and I am interesting, and she even said that I am unique (!) and that I need to get back to it. A little bit at a time. 

She helped me see that it’s the same thing — I need to refill that well that is perilously close to empty.  

N. is very wise.

Making isn’t only about giving something away, it’s about becoming more complete. It is, probably, MORE about that than it has ever been about the final product.

But back to unique (!) for a moment. I had to laugh when she said it, because those who know me know well that drawing attention to myself is PAINFUL for me. N. had asked what my creative outlets were, and I listed off jewelry (Legitimate, because I get paid for that, right?), and that I take the occasional photo for my own pleasure, and I read for a few writers — again for my own pleasure. I didn’t tell her about my blog. And she even asked about my site — if I had one. Well yes, but not really active. It skirted the edges of dishonest, and I’m not that.  Must amend that little dodge, especially since she encouraged me to write — to journal specifically.  I only privately journal in the grudging sort of way of small annoyances and vast injustices and very little in the way of wisdom and brilliance which I think so many creative people hope to capture when they make.  

Well, until they know better.  Messy and flailing yield more interesting results, in truth.  Make a mistake and then refine.  And refine again.  And trip.  And swear.  And backtrack.  And refine.  Take it apart/tear it up/delete it.  Start again.  Wonder if you are insane.  Discover something fascinating and unexpected!  Work feverishly.  Hit a wall.  Have life interfere.  Fiddle longingly.  Put it away for two years, three months, and a week or so.  Stare at it for 29 days.  Have it come together in ease and elegance and wonder why you didn’t see how to accomplish that back when.  Like that.  It’s complicated.  


But unique. It slides away from me as I try to find the point in this silly little blog.  ME?  UNIQUE???  See?  It’s painful and catnippy all at the same time.  When people have asked what I do more recently, I have not claimed the identity of artist. Also known as One Who Would Like to Be/Make Unique.  I told her that I have instead chosen to be in stealth mode — where it is safer. Where there aren’t so many expectations.

The problem with safety and low expectations is that there are also far fewer rewards. Not the money rewards, or attention — no. The rewards of having spent time in this life doing something fulfilling. As she said, all we have is right now. Frittering away my time on fearing that I MIGHT NOT be able to make, rather than just plowing ahead and TRYING is a waste of all that I…am.

It’s going to be bumpy. I know this. I’m still befuddled and furious and despairing. But I think I’ll bang on some metal a little.  Maybe fondle something slinky that I’ve already built and let the tactile aspects draw me back in.  

My niece J. and I were texting tonight (yesterday), and she said that in her opinion, I am adventurous.  That gave me such a glow of pleasure. My blend-in self is seen as adventurous by one of my most favorite young people. 

As she was leaving, N. and I were talking about writers and writing. She said that if I ever write a book, I should call it Stealth Mode.  I like it.  


I’ve not posted lately, because I haven’t had anything to say.

Maybe it’s more accurate that I have too much to say.

I don’t know.


I took this photo with my phone through the windshield of our car when my husband drove to another state to see a neurologist. The headaches have become very bad. Very debilitating. A migraine every day.  For months.  The evening was beautiful, and I tend to quiet my buzzy anxiety thoughts with looking for moments. Often we drive during full daylight, and the tinting on the windows makes everything interesting a rather odd green tint. The windshield is spattered with unfortunate bugs, so I don’t often look straight ahead. But this evening had been handing me spectacular sky, and I decided to look straight ahead to this tree coming towards us.

I can’t say it a prophetic moment in any real sense. It’s just, now, a photo that will symbolize for me what it feels like to be rushing into a vastness that I don’t understand.  Wondering.  Looking straight ahead.  Feeling a bit alone.


I love sky photos.  Dark and light, how was it going to go?

It went like this:

I was tired and overwhelmed, and was met by a lovely nurse practitioner who specializes in migraines.  She practices with a neurologist who specializes in multiple sclerosis.  She ran me through some tests — reflexes, gait, peered into my misbehaving eye, read my long list of allergies and issues, and then went to speak to the neurologist.

He looked at my original brain MRI that speculated that I might have MS.

She came back in and told me I have MS.

She knew exactly which brain lesion makes me walk like a drunk person.

There was a lot of crying.

She said that there were more tests they wanted to do to confirm, and that crying was allowed.

That made me cry more.  And I asked if it was normal to feel grief?  She said yes.  And to feel anger?  Yes, that, too.  It’s all allowed.

It’s very weird to feel relief at bad news, but I don’t think it was the bad news part as much as it was this warm and kind medical professional treating me like a fully complex human being and telling me that I was ALLOWED.

Amazing.  The second photo.  Dark and light.  Light in the darkness, it turns out.

She gave me appointments for two weeks later to have another MRI of my C-spine and a lumbar puncture.  It would take four hours and I was to take a WHOLE Xanax.  I don’t like Xanax, so I rarely take it — when I do, only a half.  Nope.  It was ALLOWED to be a full one.   She also gave me a different medication to help with the headaches.  It’s made an improvement, already.

My husband knows how to fix me.  Take me someplace interesting and let me take photos.  I cry less.


This is a bridge that people are allowed to jump off  legally!  We watched three of four people parachute down, and it felt appropriate — falling into potential disaster while looking straight ahead — or down, in their cases.  They landed just fine and we walked under the bridge.  We’ve visited it several times, but we’ve never walked beneath before.  It was amazing — the sound of the cars and trucks echoing off of the rock and bouncing back against the metal — this primal pounding and buzzing.  Rather like my unruly emotions.

We walked the rest of the way under the bridge and this is what we saw.


Beauty.   And I told my husband if we ever conquered the world, we would need to build a castle here.

I went to my appointment for the MRI and the lumbar puncture, and it is confirmed.  I have multiple sclerosis.  I cried when I got the MRI results back — the send them to the patients through a secure portal as the tests are processed — because it showed a lesion on my spine.  Done and done.  My husband, wise man, did what?  He took me to our plot of land where we hope to build a house and we staked out where it would go.  It was windy and dusty and I tripped on rocks and he zipped me into his work sweatshirt and hung tools off of me and let me pound the stakes into the ground as HARD as I could (not very) with a mallet.  And I felt better.


I confess, this photo is a bit of a cheat.  I didn’t take it that day, but rather on a day when I had another special person with me.  The feeling was the same, however.  This is what I will get to watch happen from my front yard.  With people I love.  It makes me happy.

This is the view I will have from my studio windows WHEN I can get back to working in metal.  It’s all in the when.

I started a course of intravenous steroids two days ago.  I have one more day to go, and then it will be back to see the lovely migraine specialist and to meet my MS specialist.  They will tell me how we are going to make my life better.  I never thought I’d look forward to an appointment like that, but I have wonderful, wonderful friends who have rallied and supported and encouraged me through this process.  It hadn’t occurred to me in recent months, particularly, but probably more like years, that I could expect to feel BETTER.  I have been aiming for not getting worse.

Now I feel like better may happen.

The (Oxymoronic) Blue Bird of Happiness

Yes. This exactly. And for so many reasons.

The Bloggess

A few months ago I mentioned that my friend, Brooke Shaden, came to my house to shoot my portrait.  We climbed down into the nearby swamp and I dressed up in a bunch of thrift store clothes that wouldn’t even zip up over my chest and I only fell into the swamp twice.  And we climbed trees and baffled hikers and laughed, and Victor and Hailey and Maile were there to help and it was amazing.


It was especially wonderful because I’ve been putting this photo session off for over a year because my anxiety disorder makes me continually postpone trips since I hate to travel and finally Brooke just said, “You’re weird.  I’m coming to you.”  I’m paraphrasing.  She said it much nicer.  But she understood.

She wandered through my house before the shoot and I had to explain my propensity for collecting the empty bird cages that hang all over my house.  They’re old and…

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