Logs on their way…

Josh from Mesquite Burl shipped the logs yesterday.  The project for the Devil Woman Saloon is back on track! 

The video above shows the beautiful logs which arrived from Mexico only to be sent back when I discovered they were not what I ordered for this commissioned project.  I actually found Mesquite Burl before I ordered the other logs and would you believe the folks at Mesquite Burl knew who I was before I called them?  I forgot how Josh came across my work but I am sure glad I discovered Mesquite Burl.  They didn’t have HUGE mesquite when I first inquired, thus the beginning of the fiasco with the logs from Mexico.  Josh n Log

Josh has been great to work with!!  He found a rather rare load of BIG mesquite logs and sent pictures.  I had a tough time deciding which beauties to buy.  Josh also sawed the logs in half for me and kiln dried them to kill the bugs.   Poor logs will have a bit of a shock weather-wise don’t you think?  Can’t wait to see the logs and get my paws on ‘em to let the sculpture creating begin! 

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Synchronicity and Shadows

Synchronicity is like a wink and a grin from the Universe.  I love it!  When coincidence calls I am reminded of the BIG picture.  Feelings of being connected wrap my heart with hope and lift my soul with wonder.  While checking in at my computer this morning, “shadow” crossed my screen 3 times.  First there was the “Body Shadows” post and video on the Creative Everyday Blog.  Then I glanced at an article in “Livingston Our Town” while heating up a cup of tea and learned about Montana Shadow Maker’s ranch and charity work with miniature horses so I decided to visit their channel on YouTube.  The final shadow word was connected to an indigenous singer’s name as she chanted about winter - pretty fitting for a winter wonderland morning with a foot of fresh snow and temps below zero.

Years ago when I spent my summer alone in the backcountry of Montana as a Wilderness Ranger, my shadow was a constant companion.  Weeks went by without so much as a glance in a mirror but I do remember being shocked by my shadow once when I dropped my pack and climbed a ridge to a glacier mountain lake.  My shadow stretched before me – long , lean and exceptionally feminine.  Shocked me.  I guess shouldering a 70 pound pack and handling trail tools while traipsing around grizzly bear country had me feeling BIGGER, tougher,  and more manly than that shadow suggested.  Stopped me in my tracks.  I’m sure Momma Nature was playing a few tricks with the length and proportions but there was a girlie shadow right there on the ridge stuck to my shoes.  The lake was pristine.  Deep clear…inviting…and super cold.  I dropped my clothes and jumped in for for the refreshing jolt of a wilderness rangermelted mountain snow cleanse.  Afterwards as I lay on a rock soaking the heat into my goose-bumpy flesh like a lizard in the sun, I remember looking at the mosquito bitten tan parts (and the not-at-all-tan parts) of myself wondering if they actually matched the strange girlie shadow. 

I wasn’t convinced. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Blue Moon-ness

I’m feeling a sparkly blue-moon-dust kind of  excitement for 1010.   Not only was it a big full BLUE Moon last night but there was a partial lunar eclipse as well.  We had a rather blustery night and a blurry sky which kept my dinner guests and I inside the cozy cabin for the evening’s festivities.  No one expected to stay awake NewYears‘til the New Year after stuffing ourselves with elk spaghetti.  Felicia blew out the bright pink candles on her chocolate birthday cake, we drank more wine, and the sky brightened.  Sometime after 11 pm, the wind quieted enough to entice us out…and UP…to Leroy’s Lookout.  Toting plastic sleds, we plodded up the mountain to the humble little cabin I used to call home.  Perched on top (and cabled to the rocks) the plywood shack is where I lived my first winter on the Wineglass Mountain.  Memorable. 

We heard thunder, twice before reaching the cabin.  I have never heard winter storm thunder before.  I didn’t even know it was possible but the thunder added another rather auspicious punctuation point to the old year/new year night.  Three of us toasted at midnight with Jack Daniels Snow Slushies.  We hung out on top of the world and swapped stories while the fire crackled and the Coleman lantern hummed.  The valley stretched bright below.  Livingston lights twinkled.  The moon stayed mostly obscure in a winter white sky but grew potent enough to cast shadows. 

Magical. 

We bundled up and headed out into the moon shadows.  We’d stashed the sleds under a tree near an edge of the mountain top saddle.  I lined up in my sled and led the way down the steep slope.  Many years ago when I lived up there, I would sled down each morning in a cheek reddening rush while Shiva practiced her border collie herding skills and tried to nip my snow boots.  The slope is long and steep with curves and a sharp switchback.  We all screamed with glee (and fear) while the dogs barked in the moonlight. 

Laughing, sliding, and bumbling along, we made it back to my cabin at 2 am without any serious injuries.  I packed up birthday cake for my guests, took a handful of Ibuprofen, and crawled under the covers with a cold butt and a heart which glowed warm with blue moon dust. 

Blue Moon2

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About my tree…

Christmas treeTook me twenty minutes to find the biggest tree I’ve ever attempted to stuff into my little 18’ x 28’ cabin. I always pick a tree from a crowded bunch.  That way the remaining trees gain elbow room and sunlight while the harvested tree has a gimped up side (or two) that I can shove into the corner.  Once lit, the tree stays lit day and night until take-down-time.
The magical traditional Christmas markets in Germany inspired me to collect my first few tree ornaments when I was seventeen.  I earned my exchange student tuition and airfare by painting bronzes for Harvey Ratty and Pamala Harr. A few graphic design jobs picked up on the side supplemented my savings.  Regardless to say, shopping funds were limited but I couldn’t resist picking out a few handmade beauties.  Memories of my first Christmas away from home flash vivid with sound, smell, and a mix of nostalgic emotion when I hang the miniature wooden Nutcracker ornament (complete with a mini moving nutcracker jaw).  Lordy was that really more than two decades ago?!   Hot spiced wine, roasted nuts, cold cheeks, festive little lights and a skyline framed by old European town square architecture are a vivid postcard memory of the romantic holiday spirit I experienced in a country 1/3 the size of my state back home. 
cathedral-of-st-peter-bremen-d099[1]Beyond the magic markets, Christmas was elusive and  homesickness leered.  My host family’s tradition meant that no trace of Christmas entered the house until Christmas Eve when the tree and presents were placed while we attended the Christmas program at the Bremer Cathedral.  A featureless sky was caught between between buildings in a snowless city.  I felt small, cold and a bit overwhelmed in the large cathedral where a priest spoke from his elevated box.  My host family engaged in a raucous frenzy of simultaneous gift unwrapping back at the flat where the tree had been put up complete with real candles. 
A second celebration with the Münck family later that night gave me another whole flavor and depth of Christmas.  I was their guest in a small country church where I sang “Silent Nacht” with a reverence inspired by midnight mass and the knowledge that I was singing the song in it’s native tongue.  Afterwards I gulped greedily from the starry night, thankful for a relatively expansive patch of sky pierced by the humble church steeple.  The Münck’s gave me a string of freshwater pearls.  I blushed when I unwrapped the underwear set.  Big white navel-swallowing undies with a matching undershirt had been gifted “to keep me warm” since I rode my bike everywhere.  I never wore the undies out of fear of embarrassment in the off-chance I got run over in the city and discovered dead or wounded in “granny panties.”

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The Longest Night

night-stars[1]

I danced naked with girlfriends around a big campfire to celebrate the winter solstice.  Each gal wore a pair of colorful fingerless gloves knit by me during the post surgery convalescence.  We left our boots on (and our hats, coats, clothes) but we were naked in spirit.  The solstice meadow is a special place on my mountain made more special by the ritual we shared on this winter’s eve.  Fueled by a bit of wind, the fire got wild and crazy.  We tossed our meaningfully crafted wood sculpture offerings into the flames, held hands and opened our hearts to the spirit of the longest night.  Giggling gleefully, we kicked up our heels and the snow while we spun about under the stars.  Goofy gutsy glorious girl stuff.

 

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Tragic Death

My thoughts have been preoccupied with the untimely loss of an exceptional human being.  Guy was a cross between Buddha and a leprechaun; he radiated a delightful spark and spirit emulated from his connection to Mother Nature, his depth of character and his passion.  Somehow just meeting him felt like a blessing.  I walked away from a simple encounter with Guy wearing a grin and feeling awestruck – not so much by Guy’s accomplishments (which are legendary) but rather by his uncluttered simplicity which stemmed from his enlightened embrace of life.  He was wise, humble and content.  Guy inspired us.16465_369452205321_645865321_10205158_4375214_n[1]

Last week his special spirit was snuffed when an avalanche swept him off a cliff while participating in the annual Hyalite “Icebreakers” climbing competition.  I felt like puking when a friend told me Guy Lacelle died that morning in our local ice climbing haven.  Full of shock and disbelief, my heart wept for JoJo (a long time friend and climbing partner of Guy’s) and for Guy’s wife Marge whom I don’t know but feel a connection to simply because Guy shared pictures and stories of her.  Later as the full tragic story came together in bits and pieces, my sorrow and shock was deepened by compassion for the other climbers; Adam – Guy’s partner that day, Sam and Josh who were climbing above.  

I want to admit also, that I am uncomfortable with the fact that the tragedy occurred here, in our own ice climbing “backyard.”  Guy was from Canada.  He climbed all over the world.  Somehow the tragic loss would be more palpable if it happened somewhere else - anywhere else; another country, another state.  My thought is purely selfish.  Anywhere is still a “backyard” for others.  But the fact is, Guy was a special guest…here.  On a purely selfish note; I feel disheartened and a bit let down by Hyalite even though I know how ridicules that sounds.  However I am heartened by the love, respect and care in which the local community handled the tragedy.  I talked with the sergeant in charge of Gallatin County SAR (search and rescue).  He told me it was an honor to be involved – an unforgettable day that felt like he and others had recovered a Viking.

I am too choked up to write more.  Let me share a letter written for The Bozeman Daily Chronicle by my dear friend JoJo:

“As an organizer and emcee of the recent Bozeman Ice Climbing Festival, I want to extend my deepest appreciation to Bozeman, all the great folks that traveled from across the country and Canada to be here, and the entire outdoor community for all your love and support in the face of the tragic loss of our dear friend and mentor Guy Lacelle. Guy (rhymes with see) was lost in an avalanche on Silken Falls in Hyalite Canyon on Thursday, December 10th.13839_211159663674_537883674_2980831_5672382_a[1]

Guy, originally from Ontario and living in Prince George, British Columbia, was the greatest and most accomplished waterfall ice climber to ever live, experiencing routes around the world that may never be surpassed. But more importantly I, and scores of others, knew Guy as the most wonderful and inspiring human being we've ever known. In 18 years of loving and being loved by this man, I've never known anyone to be as ethically pure, morally strong, competitive yet compassionate, such a committed conservationist, and so caring of others and animals.

Last Thursday Guy and 23 others were engaged what we call the Hyalite Ice Breaker. Simply, I designed this as a like-minded event where old and new friends simply go out and try to climb as many routes in Hyalite as they can. Whoever does the most gets only their name inscribed on a special ice axe on display at Northern Lights Trading Company. It is a celebration of the partnerships, bonds and experiences found while ice climbing in the Hyalite Canyon. Guy truly embraced the Ice Breaker more than anyone. He was here for weeks in advance to re-connect with friends and climb and strategize. He was competitive but not in a "I'm out to beat you" sort of way. He just loved the gamesmanship of it. And like the true gentleman and hero he was, he only enjoyed it if you where having fun right along with him.

When Guy's wife Marge told me on Friday morning that Guy and his family would want the Festival to continue, it gave me the emotional strength required to go forward. After all, if there was one thing I knew about Guy, it was that he would be heartbroken if he knew anyone did not have a good time nor didn't get to experience the joys of ice climbing because of his expense, even in dying.

Yet I need to acknowledge the local community again for embracing that spirit and helping us make the most of the weekend. Personally I wouldn't have made it through three more days without you. Thank you to all the participants for your enthusiasm in the clinics, many of you trying ice climbing for the first time. It would have been easy to cancel the whole thing, but seeing so many of you energized by the sport over the next three days made it all worthwhile. Thank you for attending the wonderful public tribute at the Emerson Friday night. Thank you for the respect and care during the private reception we held for Marge and her family at the Emerson Grill on Saturday. They too are humbled and grateful for the love and support shown by the Bozeman community and look forward to returning soon.
Many people have asked on how they can donate to the memory of Guy Lacelle and his family. Without hesitation they requested any donations be made to the local animal shelter, Heart of the Valley. Please follow the "Donate Now" links at www.heartofthevalleyshelter.org. Please be sure to check the "In Memory of" option.

Thank you all.
May you all have a happy and safe holidays with your loved ones.”

Joe Josephson – Livingston, MT

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Sparks below Zero

Fourteen degrees below zero this morning.  I have climbed frozen waterfalls in double digits below zero and actually had fun doing it but today I can hardly muster the gumption to open the door and let my dog out (let alone accompany her for a walk in the woods).  I’m alternating cups of tea with little bowls of oatmeal, fighting flu symptoms and feeling sluggish after a restless night.  I need motivation.  Wish I could pull motivation like a bright eyed bouncy bunny out of a magicians hat.  Instead I feel like the novice blundering magician with a stuffed up nose digging around the deep darkness only to come up with a mismatched sock, a fuzzed out old toothbrush, and a stale marshmallow.

Blah! 

I have a serious case of Monday morning tail-tucking inertia.  Wait!!  I found something!!!  A sweet little spark to share on this cold toe slow mojo day:  One of my newest Patrons sent a “thank-you-for-inspiring-me” note.  What a wonderful warm fuzzy feeling.  Love, love, LOVE it when a spark flies from my world into someone else’s and ignites a fire.  He said I could share bits from his note with you:

“Hello Amber,
You inspired me to pick up my oil paints and paint my first oil painting since High School. My first cat Moxie died a few years back at 19. I'd been looking for a picture of her I took that I thought would make a nice painting. I had grabbed my old portfolio so I could decorate my digs in Billings. What do you know, the photo I'd been looking for all these years fell out. So image then I brought out my old paints and easel and bought a canvas. There it sat blank all summer while I worked on other painting (the "compound").
Anyway, when I received your lovely print of the cat that looks just like my 2nd cat, I framed it, put it up on the shelf in the kitchen and decided "now was the time" to give it a shot. Well except for struggling with some ancient very stuck lids on my oil tubes I managed to sketch it out and paint the whole thing (18x24) in one night.  So here I am THANKING YOU Amber for a little inspiration.”

Gee.  Golly.  Gosh.  Always tickles me to hear about someone brushing the dust off their hiking boots and hitting the trail after bumping into a story from my life…or getting out the chisels which lay ignored in the closet…or wrestling the old stuck lids off oil tubes and gathering the gumption to paint. 

Thank-you for sharing your painting with me Howard.  Your kind note goosed my gumption.  Ta Da!!  Stay tuned for the rabbit ‘cuz I’m feeling the magic now…

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The Gift of a Gut Pile

Temps have warmed into the double digits for the first time in days.  Yesterday after tackling a batch of work at my desk, I bundled up and ventured out for a mini-hike in the woods with Zaydee. 

Crisp Crunch Crisp Crunch

I love the sound snow makes at zero degrees.

MountaintopJack Frost has been busy decking the woods like Martha Stewart  might deck the halls.  Sparkles galore.  The forest feels super clean.  Tantalizing little critter tracks are carefully placed accents in a fluffed up room cleared of clutter.  The cold air bit my cheeks while I strolled through the picture perfect landscape.  Something ahead looked slightly out of place.  Green gray, it lay like a pillow in the trail.  A rock?  Too smooth.  Too exposed.  Unless?  No…the bears are hibernating and not rolling rocks right now.  ‘Tis the season for gut piles but this wasn’t a pile.  There wasn’t a mess.  Just the misplaced pillow and not a couch around. 

I approached. 

The pillow was full of grass.  A deer’s stomach. So it was a gut pile…minus the guts, fur and gore.  Sounds gross but there was something oddly beautiful about the cleanliness, the color, the shape, the placement.   The only clue was a dot of blood here and there in the snow like carefully placed red candy Christmas cookie decorations.  Cliff has five deer hanging outside his cabin.  None of them have stomachs.  So here amidst the perfect Jack Frost winter white landscape, a beautiful wild creature with long eye lashes breathed it’s last.  Birds feasted.  So will I.  (Cliff keeps me in meat). 

Frozen hard as a rock, the stomach lay in the trail where I  walked carefully with trekking poles; careful not to stumble or fall thus risk ripping my own stitched up innards. 

Life is beautifully odd. 

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Healing Course

Twenty days have passed since my last entry. Life has been a bit of a jumbled journey with a focus on healing. Since the surgery I’ve often felt inspired to share stories, emotions, and revelations along with odd, humorous, and touching moments. Much is vivid. Alas…I have been more tuckered than I bargained for.
Phew!!
Time has sloshed my world with some rather sticky heavy days these past few weeks along with some super slippery days (and days). My immune system has been working overtime to heal from the trauma of evasive surgery. Two weeks after surgery I attended the funeral of a dear friend. I believe the emotional toll of her heartfelt service and celebration took a whack at my already low post-surgery energy level.  A few days after the funeral some flu-ish symptoms presented themselves; my system struggled to fight a “bug.” Reluctant to allow a full-blown flu to hit my “busy” body,  I relegated myself to bed once again (just when my leg bones were starting to itch from the restless urge to move about). I am used to activity and hardly know who I am without energy.
Last week I felt quite an improvement in my energy level…just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday. Zaydee in snowA warm-fuzzy friendly fun gathering of friends and children made for a perfect holiday topped with a post feast tiki torch lit sledding course. I am in no condition to sled (yet) but happily lent a hand holding drinks while I cheered and laughed at the top of the hill. Fun!
I overdid it.
Apparently a few days in a row of bustling about is what did me in (and not simply my duty as a drink holder at the sledding hill). Unfortunately it seems I haven’t a clue I’m overdoing it until it is too late. So while I can report that I am healing more each week; the process has been a bit like sledding in the dark with torches for guidance. I’ve had a few relatively smooth runs, some rather bumpy crazy courses, and found myself at times spun about facing uphill while the sled careened out of control downhill. I have even knocked over a torch or two. Between each run I rest, catch my breath, lay on my back and look up at stars,  laugh at myself (or whimper) and trudge back up the hill ‘cuz I am totally on board for the healing ride and imagine the course will smooth out eventually.

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Let me explain the tumor…

I haven’t been too specific about the recent surgery and realize many of you are both concerned and curious. Actually it wasn’t fair for me to mention a “football-sized” tumor in my last blog post without being more specific so here’s the deal: My girlie parts were involved along with a few medical terms which are difficult to simply blurt out. We should re-think many of the words science uses to describe procedures don’t you think? Seriously…hysterectomy is just an icky word. Any word ending with “ectomy” never sounds good and the whole “hysteria” part is plain unfair. Then there is “morcellation” and “tumor.” The word tumor is not actually offensive in itself but it does plant fearful creepy thoughts (no pun intended) and morcelation means just what it sounds like – to cut into small pieces (think “morsels”). Double ick.
The tumor was benign; common actually… just a big o’l fibroid. Except the fibroid kept growing inside my uterus for seven years while I tried to eliminate the bugger with a combination of alternative medicine, an “anti-inflammatory-tumor-reducing” diet, and pure stubbornness. I have always been very attached to my womb and believed I would have children; held onto luck and my uterus despite the pain. lithograph2 text I lugged “Fibee” to plenty of mountain tops.  I climbed rock and ice, biked mountain trails and rafted rivers.  I made art.  Initially and for many years the tumor was grapefruit size – my uterus the size of a 3-month pregnancy - hardly enough to slow me down but definitely noticeable in spandex biking shorts. Notch by notch my belt-size increased. Sometimes the tumor did shrink – spiking my faith and deepening my determination to rid myself of the pesky painful bugger holistically.  During the past few years when the tumor grew to the size of a football and my uterus equivalent to a five month pregnancy I increased my efforts. However, the depth and frequency of the pain increased exponentially. Since early spring the pain became constant with varying intensity. Often it struck in cramp waves which could knock the wind out of me while I stopped in my tracks or doubled over. According to girlfriends who have given birth, the pain I described sounded just like labor pains and they were wearing me out.  The hard mass affected my balance and decreased my flexibility. I sought several opinions and researched thoroughly. Once I acknowledged and accepted my inability to conceive or carry a baby everything else fell into place.
I love my surgeon. Dr. Haugen is a small spry spunky gal who looks like she just graduated from high school but talks with passion, experience and intelligence. Her hands expressed their own intelligence when she talked…something I have seen captured in photos and film footage of my own hands (am honestly always rather struck with astonishment when I view my hands on film). I  trusted Dr. Haugen and set a date for surgery.  The surgery involved removing my uterus along with the tumor and cervix. My ovaries were healthy and left intact thus we avoided an unnatural instant early menopause.
The image of Susan Taylor Glasgow’s sewn glass sculpture titled “It’s Always with Me” just happened to cross my path via cyberspace the day after I set a surgery date. I can’t begin to describe how much the image of this piece touched my soul.  The sculpture is a perfect visual rendition of how I felt.  Delicate, tippy, weepy, broken, flawed, and attached.  My soul and heart were drawn to the sewn together parts and the oozing femininity.  The sculpture speaks to me on so many levels…deep and personal.  I have even equated pink roses with both my mother and grandmother; they have occurred in my sculptural works (i.e. “Grandma Smells Like Roses”).  The china, the glass, the visceral rope-y parts, the slump, the spill…even the teapot is womb-like…a connection to my health and psyche.
Sewn Glass
Through a cyber-connection, the visual poetry of this sculpture perfectly placed archival pieces and parts in front of me which entered my soul, touched my inner girlie parts, and struck a chord beyond the artist, me, my mother, and my grandmother. 
The journey goes on. I continue to be inspired and plan to explore with art my emotions and revelations. I lost some important girlie parts.  A seriously large hard fibrous blockage has been cleared from the center of my body.  A new chapter has opened, and even this quiet healing time feels ripe with potential.

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Soft, slow, gentle…

The morning dawned pale and pretty.

sunrise2

Soft. Slow. Gentle.

I took a few deep breaths from beneath the comfy covers and placed those words on my tongue like three healing lozenges. Soft. Slow. Gentle. One week has passed since my surgery. I am on the road to recovery. Lucky. Healthy. Healing. But once again yesterday I overdid it. Oops! 

Seriously…I AM taking it easy!!!!

Considering the level of activity I’m used to and the level of activity I kept up despite the challenging medical condition, I have been a good patient. Pain would be a helpful indicator for most people but I have an exceptionally high pain tolerance which disqualifies my ability to judge (especially since the pain since surgery hasn’t at any point been any more severe than the pain I’d grown accustomed to before surgery). I have attempted a good impression of a total slug but somehow this “slug” manages to slurp some of that typical Amber “go juice” now and then and light up with a spritely spurt that gets me into a bit of trouble.  Just what does “take it easy” mean anyway? How easy?! I’m learning. Soft. Slow. Gentle. I roll the words around in my mouth- hopefully they will seep and coat my innards with a “molasses movement mantra.” I will keep the image of a slowly unfolding sunrise as reminder of the pace to honor for another week or two or three or…?

Forgive me if this is Amber Darkness 7the first you’ve heard of the surgery. The decision and journey have been very personal. The past months were frightening and emotional yet transformative. Insights land in my lap like autumn leaves picked up gently - the intricate beauty examined appreciatively for detail and inspiration. Insights also get flung in my face like slick sticky mud balls which make me laugh even while I spit and sputter with grit and grime left in between my teeth. Life offers SO much!! Dark places along with bright beaming light. One week ago two skilled surgeons removed a few body parts along with a football-sized tumor.  I am on the road to recovery and discovery.

Image above titled, “Amber Darkness 7” by artist Rocky Hawkins.  The painting was a pre-surgery gift from Rocky and has been near the bed under the vase of sunflowers he and Kat brought by after surgery.  (The painting is part of a series by Rocky – the “amber” part is a coincidence).  I have been so well cared for…and will share more soon!

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Starless Night

Not a single star blinked back at me while I bounced sleepless about my cabin last night - unless one rolled out from under a thick warm cloud blanket sometime after 4 a.m.  Sleep hasnite been more than evasive this week.  Sleep scuttled into a small dark hole out of the cat’s reach under the kitchen cabinets where it scratched and scratched and scratched.  Incessantly.  Irritatingly.  Persistently.  Maddeningly.  All night sleep poked and pointed, nipped and bit, sniffed and slunk.  Finally just before sunup I grabbed it by the arm, rousted sleep from its ruse, and shook the dust bunnies off.  I glared at the mocking little bugger until the gleeful defiant glint softened in surrender, shuddered and sighed.  Limp.  I turned my back to the starless sky, curled up and slept.

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Glimpse from Last Week

Mother Nature got up from a languid autumn nap.  Stretched.  Then browsed a catalog of weather while drinking a double-shot of espresso.  The result?  A caffeine infused shopping spree of snow, sun, cold, more snow, single digit temps, creative cloud skies, warm weather, lightning, rain, thunder, hot afternoons and mud.  October Loop Hike

 

Loop hike on my mountain (last week)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today?  Rain and more rain after a starry night.  Life itself feels super-charged like the weather.  Moments during the past week were as dark and thick as sludge left in the bottom of a delicate white coffee cup.  Soft and hard.  Tender and harsh.  Poignant and painful.  Sweet and bitter.  Precious and precarious.  The result?

Inspiration.

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Amber Jean – LIVE (in video clips)

Just in case the written word doesn’t cover enough from my life, art, and adventures…I’ve added my very own YouTube Channel to upload short videos from…well…my life…art…and adventures!  Wahoo!  (and Yikes!)

Actually it is fun to shoot video footage and share.  I’ve a zillion ideas and am open to your suggestions.  I hadn’t realized that I could automatically link YouTube to my blog until the darling dog lover Roxanne Hawn  gave me the hint/suggestion today.  She’s a freelance writer with a fun informative blog  www.championofmyheart.com which she describes as “a dog blog about hope and hard work.”

Thanks to Roxanne’s suggestion, I have set things up so that future videos will automatically post right on my blog.  But you may have missed the first few videos so visit: www.youtube.com/montanamber

If you have a moment – grab a cup of tea or a shot of whiskey and check out the channel.  The videos are short.  While you are there feel free to rate the videos, subscribe, write feedback and sign up as my friend in the “friends box.”  Did you catch that?  (a not-so-subtle hint)  :)  I want your feedback!  If you visit and leave a mark somewhere  on the montanamber channel you can help get rid of that “no scratch polished” look that comes from being brand new.  Right now the site looks too new…too shiny…too “friendless.”

Stay tuned!

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Pile of Poop

A little over a week ago I posted a note about a BIG pile of bear poop I found 100 yards from my cabin (see “Holy Bear Poop Batman”).  Of course I took a photo when I discovered the poop but didn’t have the guts to post it because this is suppose to be an inspiring art blog and I wasn’t sure just how poop photos fair on the internet.  BUT you asked for it!!  Ok…maybe you didn’t…but plenty of people did…so…here you go: 
Bear Poop
Um.  Yuck?! 
Actually it was both impressive and a bit fascinating.  Either it was left by one BIG bear or a regular-sized bear with an irregular digestive problem.  Regardless…right after I shot the photo, I returned to my cabin to grab the bear spray before getting back to my hike.  Finding “Amber parts” in a pile of bear poop might be interesting but I’d rather they stick to the berries.

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Warm milk of Creativity

Morning dawned white with snowfall. Treetops fade toward blank frozen sky. Maya finally settled down after a serious case of cabin fever, she hates cold weather. Zaydee is covered in wet dirt from futile hours spent digging after little bunnies hunkered in hiding places under my cabin. I feel like losing the day to a good book, warm food, and Baileys. Sounds uninspired but actually I am brewing like a slow batch of cider on the stove top. Feelings and images rollover each other inside my head like cozy kittens. I’m torn between the desire to reach in and pluck one protesting little mewing kitten from the bunch to see just where the feisty critter takes me…or…letting the little nuzzled together squirmy buggers nurse awhile longer. The ideas are tangled together in a warm slurping mass of possibility. Maybe they need to fill their tummies and nap a good while before I break up the bunch and get to work. I can hardly wait.

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