Dreampower Artworks

With a nod to superstition and a slew of statisticians, I humbly ask permission that the R word — remission — be admitted to my mission. Impossible, you say? Not enough contrition? Too bold and grand a vision? Should I settle for submission to glio docs making all decisions? Or should I give myself permission…

In about ten days, I will be getting another MRI scan and I’m working on picturing what I want: another clear scan, a frank discussion with the oncologist about the R word — remission — and a flexible exit strategy. No, not the final shuffling exit from our mortal coil. I mean exiting from Sensei…

Seventy years of changing gears, switching careers, facing fears, crying tears, loving dears, sending cheers, opening ears, seeing clear, standing here, ready for what nears

Underground spring, a place of refuge from the chaos that has been and still is and is yet to come. An improbable but deep-rooted spring embraced by the taproots of mated trees, twisted, old and resilient in their determination to survive and sing into being every spring. And within the intertwined roots, a safe passage…

Entrance In October 2017 our dear friends Mila and Willie lost their house to the Santa Rosa fires. In April 2018, Henry and I made plans to drive out West to see them and bless their new home under construction on the same spot. The footings of their foundation had been poured so we could…

But not today. Today I feel run over, sore, itchy, weepy, sleepy, and way too tender, almost as good a list as what my veins had been accused of: jumpy, rolly, scarred, valvesy, clotty, and positional like the seven dwarfs even though there are only six, the six veiny sins every nurse/would-be sticker must face…

A shitty prognosis can feel like a blight, a dismal cloud obscuring the light. The dust turns your world into endless night, droughting your hope and dimming your sight. But you find within a spring beyond plight, sweet water flowing with grace and with might. You steer your body away from your fright and crawl…

In the autumn of 2019, during six weeks of radiation treatments while Henry and I stayed at the John Zay guest house near Penrose Hospital in Colorado Springs, I spent a lot of time writing and making small paintings, and I joined a Facebook support group for people diagnosed with glioblastoma called something like “from…

Circle Roll with itdon’t sweat the small stuff, even if the small stuff goes on all day longmake like a duck letting problems drip off your feathers, or lick them dry like a catbe like water flowing around boulders, knowing that eventually the rock will wear awayrelax and keep your sense of humor — be…

Okay sensei glioblastoma, you brought me to my knees with Nancy’s death. Even though we all knew it was coming, your throw had an extra kick in it, a little more than was strictly necessary. After I got up and shook it off, you gave me a subtle head fake and totally swept my balance…