It came!—Oh, did I forget to mention? I bought a kayak! I've been putting off the purchase because, well, they're not cheap...but I decided that I was going to enjoy this Summer a whole lot more than I enjoyed last Summer—and also, that I was going to keep my butt out of the hospital this time around.

I poured over reviews, specs, and finally decided to buy with the problem-area in mind. I found a kayak that allows for several different leg positions with the bigger cockpit and side pads so that I can keep shifting, adjusting the pressure on the high maintenance (and costly) derrière. This is nothing new—I've never in my entire life found sitting for long periods comfortable...who knew it was to blame on a tumor and lacking coccyx!?

At twelve feet, it's not so short to be an absolute nightmare on choppier waters (but short enough that it's still pretty maneuverable for someone with a shorter arm span), and has excellent ratings on stability and tracking. It came last Friday, and I was well pleased to return from my father's to find it sitting sweetly atop Nick's SUV. I jumped from my car and cried loudly, embarrassingly, "I HAVE A KAYAK!" Nick came out, inquiring whether or not I was drunk.



The next day, both kayaks were loaded on the SUV and we headed to Mirror lake to paddle the waters there. After four or five hours, we bobbed just off from where we put-in and clutched onto each other's boat to stay close and not drift away. It was so lovely just then, feeling the fatigue in my muscles and the heat of the sun—I am very happy with my choice of kayaks.

At one point, however, I called up to Nick, "Yours is still faster!"

He called back, "It's called arm strength."




Oh, and Nick wants me to publish that last night, at his birthday dinner, I ate steak. And liked it.

Dad asked me to go this year—I hadn't been planning to do so as last year's reduced me to a sniveling mess. It was a cold rainy night and Brenda and I hightailed it out of there partway through the opening ceremony. There was a woman speaking about how we have to be proactive in our own health, how she felt sick and the doctors couldn't find what was wrong...but she still felt sick so she kept going back and kept going back...and Brenda and I had enough of that going on in our immediate lives just then—the feeling not right and nobody being able to figure out why. We were not of the mentality to hear a similar story that ended with "You have Cancer."

But my excuses ran dry when the sunny 90° day dawned, a good 40°-50° warmer than last year, and I had received an answer to my health woes that didn't involve the "c" word anywhere by the end.

I got all the way through the opening ceremony this time, and nearly lost it when it was announced that my mother's old company had dedicated a lane in her name again this year. It warms me that she was so well loved, and that her memory is kept alive by those that she cherished so deeply: her friends. I remember the 2005 Relay for Life...I spent it with her at the house. Dad went off to the event, leaving us to hide. There is and honor in fighting a disease and publicly proclaiming that you WILL overcome, and I don't mean to insinuate otherwise...but for Mom, she was handed a death sentence from the get-go.

"You will never be Cancer free."
"Good news is, at the rate of growth, you have about fifteen years."
"At this rate of growth, you have about two years."
"This is growing much more rapidly than we had expected. You have about three months."

She found it difficult to face her killer when she really was in no mood to die.

So, this was really the first opening ceremony that I have ever attended, and I didn't know about the survivor lap. I didn't know how tight my chest would feel as I imagined her down there in a purple shirt. I didn't know that tears would blur my vision and show her image to me down there on the track, only to lose her all over again when I blinked. I didn't know how much it still hurt. They released their balloons into the air and I tilted my face toward the sky to watch, looking through firmaments that I don't know to actually exist to see her face...and, there, I know where I can find her.



It was a beautiful night.

Last Friday, I spent a portion of the afternoon at my aunts' house. They weren't there, but I wanted to try to capture some of the iridescent lavender swirls of fantasy that lassoed me in just the evening before.



I've always loved the grounds here. I turned from the rude modernity of a busy highway into an alcove of quiet residences quite apart from that other life. Parking in my aunts' driveway, I opened the garage door and let myself in. There I stood in the dining area, looking out in appreciation. I felt like Mary Lennox just then, with my own secret garden—but I was not the only one eager to drink it all in:



A storm was coming, I could feel the foreboding whispering from the lips of the heavy air. "Just a quick look around," I warned myself, but it was not meant to be. I had my camera and I was in Rappaccini's garden. The vibrant petals burned against the grayed light and the garden creatures—you know, the ones that only come to life when you're not looking, and no matter how fast you turn around you can't catch them moving around—watched intently as I picked my way through their world.



And, I breathed in the sweet fragrance. The wind was picking up, and the fragile blossoms revealed their true beauty as they persevered, showing their strength. The wind chimes picked up, and it sounded to me then, encased in my world of fancy as I was, as through faeries had descended around. My Aunt Brenda put a wind chime on my mother's grave. Mom used to lie awake at night, often unable to sleep with what faced her. One night, she heard a wind chime hanging from the corner of the house, talking to her. She had a moment of divinity then, and forever after referred to the wind chime's tune as "God's Song". I cherish the sweet strains.



But I just can't seem to capture the wonder of it all for you here. These pictures managed to miss the pixie dust shimmering down like curtains around the scene, the smiles I couldn't keep from my face. Perhaps it is a place one mustn't merely see, but experience. Perhaps that magic only comes to life to a girl latching on to that peace and beauty she knew so well from her childhood. Perhaps the camera's eye will never have the focus of mine.