I move around the kitchen before sunrise, quietly doing dishes from the party the night before. It's funny how such a normally mundane task can feel quite lovely in the wake of a chaotic, anything-but-normal, virtual waking nightmare of a week. Just hot soapy water against the crystal wine glass gives me a tiny scrap of peace, a gift that has been in short supply of late. I've checked on the sleeping baby and my conked out husband before slipping out onto the deck and watching the sky turn every shade of pastel. Even as I wonder why the heck I'm up so early, I am glad for the respite.

The mountain man's condition has improved, but to what extent and for how long remains a mystery. I am relieved that his suffering has been eased, especially in light of the fact that he despised being hospitalized, even if it was his choice. Yielding results he can feel good about was the goal and that was accomplished. I don't know what's ahead...and let's be real, nobody does. I only know I am bracing myself as best I can, because this moment is the eye of the storm that's all around, a storm that will break with a vengeance before long, leaving God knows what debris in its wake.

Twenty-four hours of normal and a morning that began too early, but is tender, easy on my bruised spirit...I'll take it and be grateful. I wonder if I have the strength of character to face what's coming with Grace, especially with the years-built-up bouts of fury lurking in dark places, stewing like some boiling cauldron dangerously close to spilling over. Aunt Mattie would have been meticulously kind, infinitely forgiving, and make both of those look effortless. I am not her, even though at times like this I desperately wish I were. I struggle to be the best version of myself every single day and to be someone SHE would be proud of. It's probably okay that in my worst moments, I must repeat over and over in my head, "Do the loving thing, Amy. Do the loving thing." I'm sure nobody would hold it against me if they knew I needed to psyche myself out on occasion. Perhaps that just makes me ridiculously human, and flawed. I look to the sky, the sun now rising like fire over the horizon and sacrifice my insecurities on a cosmic alter in the flames of starry morning light.

Too little sleep, too many conflicting emotions and thoughts pounding my brain day after day, as I face each moment bolstered with caffeine, dogged determination to do what is "right" verses what is easy, and hold tight to the silent but very real support from my Tribe. I wish my mind would shut up already about things that just don't matter. Unfortunately I don't know how to make it do that (...and have never been privy to the secret of simply "letting it go"). I seriously have complete conversations in my head about things that haven't happened yet, things that are happening that are complete bullshit, and conflicting stories and agendas that are impossible to unravel. Part of me knows, in light of what's happening, none of those things matter at all. The gravity of the situation at hand makes every bit of that stuff petty, irrelevant. And yet, knowing without question that those things are irrelevant does nothing to assuage the constant turmoil and conflict I feel inside.

The business of dying is a messy endeavor. The process, the outcome brings out the very best in some people and the absolute worst in others. I don't even begin to understand why that is and I'm trying very hard to stay positive, not assume things that haven't happened, yet, but that ain't easy! In the back of my mind I hear the whispered voice of  my friend Aiden, whose cynical position is, "I don't bother giving people the benefit of the doubt because I've learned there is no actual benefit to it." I have given him crap about that view for years, despite the fact that sometimes his view is absolutely spot on. It hurts my soul to admit that. I tell myself, "You can do this. Be detached, take nothing personal, and focus on the end goal." But many times in the days passed, I nearly cracked, nearly lost my shit, and fell into bed thinking, "Thank GOD this day is over and I kept it together." Because no matter what I tell myself, it IS personal...all of it...and shutting that part of it down is practically impossible!

As I rush to get some form of nourishment in my body, hurry to throw a load of laundry in and stop  to remind myself to just breathe before the madness of a new day begins, my phone vibrates. The message is from my husband who says, "Just tell yourself one step, one day at a time. You are doing the most important thing right now. The rest will work out when the time comes." I hope he's right, struggle to suck back tears I am just not ready to shed because I cannot do what's ahead if I utterly fall about. As for the rest,  I know what he would say about all that other "noise". He'd tell me none of that is about me, none of those things are MY bags. Do NOT pick them up. And while I am sometimes tempted to pick them up anyway on principle alone, I force myself not to touch them, just walk by and leave them sitting wherever I find them.

The mountain man is frail flesh stretched over his skeletal body. He is frightened and his time is short. My only focus must be to make his days as full of quality as possible, and offer him comfort as he slips from this life to the next. For my own sanity, I have to find ways to make the thousand other details, issues, and problems hovering around all of this to shut the hell up. The most effective, expedient way to do that is to purge them here, where perhaps someone else will find them helpful.  Even if that's not the case, I will at least be able to stifle them for awhile.

I sat in Oncology next to the frail and stoic ol' mountain man, as we waited for him to finish his liter of IV fluids. The chemotherapy patients around us talked with us about priceless time. "We always think, I'll do this, or that, or whatever...someday. For most, someday never comes," I say. "Back in the day," the lovely older woman close by began, "...our parents and grandparents were happier with less. They lived a simple life in simpler times and they worked hard, but they seemed to be able to enjoy just the little things much more than we do today. By today's standards, they would have been deemed 'poor', but they were richer, I think, in every way that matters. Now, we just work and work for more stuff, day in, day out, until we die or we're too sick to do anything else." The mountain man grunted his agreement. My mind kept trying to process all that was lost amidst supposed gains in the world around us, and all the things of true value that we can never beg for, borrow, or steal.

A vivacious seventy-five year old volunteer approached us. "Would you like a snack? Something to drink?" she offered. "I'll take a Sprite and maybe a Ginger Ale for him?" I asked. "Coming right up, honey," she said. When she returned, she had a basket full of nabs. I selected two things I thought the mountain man might try. "He won't eat," I told her. She scolded him. "Sonny, I've beaten cancer twice now and lived to tell the tale...obviously," she laughed and threw up her hands in mini-celebration. "Now I volunteer here during the week, because I can! Pay it forward, ya know?" she said, doing a little jig. Then, she leaned in close, all playfulness aside, looked him in the eyes and said, "You can do this. Fight like hell, you hear me?" "I'll try," he said on a sigh, giving his tentative agreement. Then he tightly squeezed my hand. I flat out refused to embarrass him by crying, so I didn't even glance his way.

Once our friendly volunteer was gone off to spread her upbeat spirit with other souls who needed it, he and I sat in utter silence. I offered  him a raisin, which he took and absently ate, as his eyes stared off into nothingness space. I knew he wanted to be almost anywhere but here. Still, many around him giving off positive vibes in spite of their circumstances was good for him to see. He needed to get to something beyond him, beyond HIS cancer. Time...precious time is something he can never have back, whatever regrets come for him, haunting his waking hours. Hope is all he has, except for my hand, holding his in this moment, reminding him that whatever comes, we'll face it together. I am inspired, at least, by this collection of people all around whose actions say, "Not today, cancer. You cannot  have me today." And today, it didn't take him either.

Years ago, my husband insisted, "Someday I want to buy a camper and travel across the country." "Well," I told him, "...you'll have to do it with someone else because I have absolutely no interest in that." I put my foot down, as images of some Griswoldesque future version of us popped into my head imagining us traveling down old highways in a honkin', butt-ugly Winnebago (*insert mortified shudder here*). I'm not sure which one of us was more shocked when I pushed HaRD for us to buy our first camper last summer and hit the road. Ohhhhh how he rejoices in seeing me eat my words, and rightfully so, because I am not only on board with his long ago idea, there are days when I think we should sell everything we own, trade in the camper we have for a larger one, and head out for parts unknown (...let me tell ya, campers have come a really LONG way in twenty years; some even have washer/dryers!!!!). My change of heart has been a long time coming, and really the fire that sparked that was realizing the sheer magnitude of having this ONE life and living every second of it to the fullest.

When we're both stretched out by a campfire, we often laugh at my ridiculous prior aversion to even the idea of camping (...and to be fair, I'm still not a completely "roughin' it" kind of girl). He'll say with a really big grin on his face, "Took me almost thirty years, but I've finally brought you over to the dark side!" This is usually followed up with a wildly cartoonish eyebrow gesture that never ceases to crack me up! I think that man is really diggin' how lightened up his woman is becoming and the truth is, I'm lovin' it, myself. I don't think I even realized how tight a grip I had on being properly sedate, my little fists white-knuckling an ideal pounded into my head since I was old enough to walk. Now, I spit and swear (sometimes), ride motorcycles, get tattoos, and go camping! All of this is done in a perfectly Amy-ish, very civilized manner, of course, but I'm sure wherever she is, my Aunt Mattie is still shaking her head, thinking, "What in the world has that boy done to my chicky?"

Change is scary, no matter how old you are or how much life experience you've had and it is often my very first instinct to resist it with ferocity! What I have come to realize, however, is that most of the time, change is exactly what we need. Our lives are better for it when we don't allow them to stagnate in the same rut, on the same path, for an indeterminate amount of time until we die. And really, resistance to change is futile (...I know, that sounds terribly corny and cliche'). For me, I MUST continue to evolve into the best version of myself, even if I have to be dragged forward kicking and screaming (which HAS actually happened). Right now I'm at Amy version 2.0, but I'm only just getting started on this whole evolution thing. I can't wait to see where that takes me! And hopefully there will be less of that kicking and screaming nonsense.

The scruffy ol' mountain man is not a character from an epic novel I've read. He is flesh and blood, and not from any mountain anywhere near these parts. I dubbed him this long ago, because he is about as moveable as one of those Herculean creations, and scaling him to attain the peak, (i.e. understanding of who he really is) has always been damn near impossible. Honestly, since childhood it seemed as if his formidable presence would remain majestically aloof but steady forever. Not even those tangible giants of this Earth are indefinite, however, even though they fade much slower than any human counterpart.

Today he said to me, "I am lost and don't know what to do about it. Never been in this situation before," and something inside me shattered into a thousand delicate crystal shards capable of cutting tender flesh, making it bleed. Helpless, I made a joke, "Well, if you want, I'll send you a compass. That way at least you'll always know where North is." It was lame, but it's all I had. I don't know how to help him except to say over and over, "You're not alone." That's not enough either, but is also all I've got, this sincere resolve that no member of my Tribe will ever have to stand alone as long as I'm alive.

My insides rattle and shake with the power of emotions rocking me about like some helpless skiff in a hurricane. "Steady," I tell myself. Keep your feet planted firm and as the storm winds grow, hold on tight...because they ARE going to grow into this giant crescendo that slams and hammers away at every bit of rock and pebble against that mountain. Sooner or later (although we're down to the soon part now), the mountain will fall, scattering bits and pieces of dust and mystery across the land nearby. And when the noise has dissipated, all that will be left are silent sobs for what was lost.

"Don't go, dad," my heart whispers, echoing off the ribs keeping it caged in place. Instead I lift my eyes towards the vibrant blue skies and pray, "It's okay. Take him when you're ready, when he's ready."

The days slip by in a haze of southern summer humidity. It frequently crosses my mind that I am living on borrowed time now. Why? Because I'm now at the precise age when my beautiful mother slipped from this life into the next nearly twenty years ago and without warning. The below conversation took place this weekend out on my back deck in the wee hours of the morning:

My Husband: You look all serious. What are you thinking?
Me: How much my mother has missed. She would have been so over the Moon at Sarah (my youngest daughter) flying. And Lord knows she'd have been crazy about that baby Hannah (my oldest daughter) brought into this world. I don't know how many years are supposed to go by before I don't miss her like crazy. Like, is there some magic number nobody bothered to tell me?
Hubby: No, babe. You feel what you feel. I'm sure you're not the only one.
Me: Even though she drove me bonkers, I have a thousand things I want to tell her.
Hubby: So, tell her. She will hear you. I know, it's not the same. Say it anyway.
Me: It feels so weird to think that at the age I am right now, she was gone. Not another sunrise, or birthday party. She never found a place where she felt settled and I hate that she died feeling so lonely and isolated. I feel like every day I'm allowed to live, I'm getting away with something she wasn't privy to. I don't even understand what that means, but that's how it feels. I also feel so guilty if I spend even a moment taking anything for granted. Like I should be ashamed because here I am with every day stretched out in front of me filled with opportunities, and in a moment, a flash, without warning, I could be gone.
Hubby: That's true for any of us, babe. You know as well as I do, there are no guarantees. In anything!

I nod, and look to the stars for answers to questions that perhaps the human race has been asking since the dawn of our existence, only to find bright spots of twinkle that have been around long before I was born, and will sparkle on well after I am ash and dust and memory.

The world is a tumultuous place and life is so very fragile. I don't know why I'm allowed the days I am given, but I am extremely grateful. How ever many more I have before me, I fully intent to make the most of them. That is all!

Before I began my writing career, I did a whole lot of research from author's websites, to "Getting Started" YouTube tutorials, and even dug through stacks of books (Writing for Dummies was actually more helpful than I anticipated). Over and over I read advice saying, "Stick with it. Keep going. Make yourself write every day." Honestly, the actual writing part is fairly easy for me (...hahaha)! It's the editing, website building, updates, marketing, merchandise, promotional opportunities, etc., that are a royal pain in the keester! I have this one career that in truth is really about nine careers all squished under one umbrella heading and it is way more work than you might think, certainly way more work than I anticipated.

I remember when I was getting started, someone said to me, "Must be nice to sit home and do nothing all day." *snorts*  If I did "nothing", absolutely none of the contents of this site would exist. Like life, in general, I still have a lot to learn. What I am at the moment is merely a "baby writer". I'm fairly certain I could be stuck with that title for many years before graduating to the next level. Honestly, though, I'm more prepared to deal with that prospect than I have been at perhaps any other time in my life...a most reassuring feeling.

So, what did I do today? Well, I updated my Facebook page (...because social media is a great source of advertising), I updated my website, created two more pages for my book, created a dozen products on CafePress.com, chose and edited my logo, researched becoming incorporated, AND edited the previous two pages of my children's book! How much did I get paid? Zilch! How much was all of that worth to me? Priceless! The point is...sometimes you work really hard for a dream only you can see and only you will ever fully appreciate. I am very happy, however, that I have a group of people (...growing all the time) who are coming along with me for this wild, ROUGH, fun ride and who may be inspired, even a little, to chase big ol' dreams of their own!

Note: Above are the two pages of my book I completed today. Head over to the children's book section of my website to see what new things I've done to it!

Below is the logo for Amy, Inc. (...not yet officially incorporated, but coming soon). It is appropriate that my logo is a drawing of "little me"....drawing!

Resigned, I dove into the task of illustrating my first children's book, after months and months of trying to come up with a myriad of other ways to get it done rather than tackling it myself. Each of my ideas got shot down until the only solution left was to pick up the ball and run with it as best I could (...or let the entire project die a painful death, NOT an option). Let me tell ya, it's not easy to drum up motivation to do something you already have deep reservations about. Doubting my skill has been such a hurdle. Ugh! But I sat up my work space, gathered the printed copy of the text for the book and my story board, and got to work.

Throughout the day, I posted bits and pieces of my progress for comment. Good feedback and encouragement kept coming, which helped push me forward. When page #2 was, for the most part, DONE, I sent a copy to someone I know who is an exceptional artist. "What do you think?" I asked. "Too babyish?" Several hours later, I got a response. "Looks ok to me. That's a style now." I could hear the CRUSH to my spirit, which was already fragile, at best. I gritted my teeth and refused to break...flat. OUT. Refused! (And I MAY have sought out a big jar of Gorilla Glue to fix the pieces that fell off).

You know, people say all the time, "I'm going to do this or that, accomplish this or that, blah, blah, blah." And then, time slips by with absolutely nothing to show for those empty words that fall away, meaningless to the place where broken dreams go. They make excuses for why "it" never happend...I should know because I, too, have been guilty of this. But not anymore! For me? Today I completed page #1 of a book that really is about fifteen years in the making and nearly ended up just a pile of broken dreams scattered amidst a host of untold others. That's two pages in two days, and neither of them sucks. It's true that I am no Chris Van Allsburg (author and illustrator of books like Jumanji), whose artwork, alone, is exquisite. What I AM is determined! It's perfectly okay if when I'm done people don't gush and swoon over my creation. I am mindful of what Mama Schaefer often pointed out to me, "Define your goals, YOUR way, and what success looks like for you. Then, no matter what happens, you will be happy with the outcome."

I can't wait to see this book completed and dedicated to a group of students I will never forget. The process, alone, of getting it there will be a major accomplishment for me. And if they love it? Others love it? Frosting on the most delicious cupcake ever! I am delighted to discover that now the process has begun in earnest, all the negative stuff does is throw kerosene onto that flame I have lit, that burns to create something I can be proud of!

I sat on the deck listening to the morning birds happily chirp away in the nearby trees. I could tell myself I was out here just communing with Nature, something I truly love to do, but honestly I was avoiding the thing I've been putting off for months...illustrating my first Children's book. Two days ago, I told my husband, "Okay, I need you to nag me every day next week about doing my drawings, no matter how much I protest." He sighed, "Fine. But I hate being a nag, even though you've given me your blessing to do it. I don't want to push you into something you don't want to do. The only reason I'm going to do it this time is because you actually DO want this." He knows why I've been dragging my feet on this and thinks it's ridiculous. My problem? Somewhere in my brain I've told myself I'm not good enough of an artist to do a job worthy of being "out there" among all those other children's books with absolutely exquisite artwork. My fear is in the way (...oh hey, that's new *snorts*)!

The Dragon Egg is a story I made up in my first year of teaching after receiving a gift from one of my students. Besides the fact that the children hung on every single word of my tale (a great endorsement for a good story), I had a really special bond with that group. You see, that was the year of 9/11, when our world changed forever. During the attacks, my students and I huddled close, talked about the things they were afraid of, and then spent most of the day doing fun things to help distract us from the fear and sadness we were all feeling to some degree. I was humbled by the faith their families had in me to leave the children in my care, because many pulled their children out of school or kept them home that horrible day.  In the weeks and months that followed, we grew closer and closer, finding other ways to bond throughout the course of that school year...with our teacher-read-aloud of Harry Potter's world, which fascinated them, to our poetry writing, giving them a creative medium to express themselves and making grand scientific discoveries (...well, grand on a fourth grade level, at least)! Our class motto was, "Dream big, work hard, be NICE" (which I had on the board the entire year), and almost daily I reminded those children that they could do anything, be anything if they just put their minds to it.

And here I sit, fifteen years later at my computer with my sketch pad, as tears stream down my face. I feel like I've let them down, because those words weren't just a line I was selling the children, I meant them. Why, then, wouldn't I tackle my own dreams in the same way?! Mostly I have learned how to do just that, but this book, these illustrations...God do I want to get them right. I want them to reflect something timelessly beautiful and I don't trust my ability to do them justice.  Even though they are pictures that will go along with my make-believe tale, the bigger purpose is to capture the essence, the magic of that year, that group, in a book that would make them proud to be part of the story. THAT, my readers, is one tall order. No more finding excuses. No more self-doubt. Today, I bring pencil to paper and I will not stop until this creation of mine is done. Every day until it's complete, I will wake up and remind myself, "Hey girl, get out of  your own way! Let's do this!" The children (who aren't children any longer) are counting on you to BE the example. Show 'em what you're made of!

The air hangs heavy over a summer night much like a thousand others. Lightning flickers just above a treeline filled with fireflies who seem to answer the sky's electric flashes. My phone sits on a pillow next to me, playing "Fly Like an Eagle" by Seal, and I am struck by how afraid I am sometimes of what lies ahead. While time follows Seal's soulful lyrics, slipping into the future moment by moment, I talk myself off the ledge of panic for what is unknown. I have faith that what sits in the dark woods behind my house is nothing that will cause me or those I love harm. I have faith that what lies beyond my yard, my house, the night surrounding me won't try to destroy all that I love, won't try to break me, shattering on Earth's floor. I cannot stop what stands ahead, I can only believe that whatever it is, when it hits and the dust settles, I will, in fact, still be standing.

God, how many times the world around me shakes with hate and war, fear and anger...disgusting words splattered across all forms of media displaying vile acts. People who tear down easily, instead of attempting to build up, justifying their wretched actions from a laundry list of other equally wretched acts. I want to scream, "Can't you see, it's all connected, WE are all connected and our outcome is beyond bleak if we don't somehow actually GET that!" How many ways must we get it all "wrong" before we come to the "right"? I ask myself this from as much a personal level, as a global one, because in our own way, each of us is a tiny snapshot image of that whole we are connected to...which makes my little speck of world, and yours, completely relevant in the "grand scheme of things". Are we going to "infinity"? Or are we going to destroy ourselves, each other long before any of us has a chance to get there. Perhaps there is nothing beyond. As that kernel of a thought even crosses my mind, behind it comes this tiny spark, this hope that there is, and whatever is there...is worth the trip.