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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.




So I hear it's storming.  Dumping buckets and buckets of snow, sleet, hail, slish and slosh, temperatures plummeting to single digits.

I'm envious when I look at your snow.  Those glistening hillsides, the flush on your cheeks, the icicles hanging merrily from your eaves.  I pine, truly and deeply, for the cold to bite my lips and the snow to stick to my boots.  I miss the sharp intake, the snap on skin, the festivity of the weather.

But then I look down and see blue suede flats on my feet and a sack of cheery meyer lemons waiting on the counter.  And I fall in love with California all over again.
I have plans this afternoon to bottle up some of this sunshine into a few glittering jars of marmalade, maybe with a sprig of rosemary for the infusing.  Experimental canning, but I've faith in my culinary skills (although there was a experimental tempeh incident last week... that resulted in frozen pizza) and the homegrown goodness of these sweet things.  The truth is, I'm just greedy for jam.  It's my excuse to eat another slice of bread.  And in the dark (Bright! Chilly! Sunshine!) days of winter as my stash of preserves dwindles, I feel the itch to fire up the stovetop and let the scent of zest fill the house.
BC and I treated ourselves to breakfast out this morning, our most gluttonous of pleasures, and a tradition whenever one of us leaves on a trip.  I had the eggs bennie with tofu-bacon and, as my restless leg would reveal, too much coffee.  I think the pup and I might need to run a few laps around the backyard just to settle into the afternoon.
Have I mentioned?
He's a battering ram on stilts.
Nearly 35 pounds of teenage maniacal energy with the wiggliest butt and the biggest paws and MUDDY STICKS COMING INTO MY HOUSE ON THE HOUR.  Sigh.  He found the Christmas wreath in the compost pile this morning and hand delivered approximately ten million pine needles to me.  Again.  Sigh.
But the truth is, I wouldn't give it up for a single second.
Because in the afternoons, he sleeps under my studio chair in the sunny spot and let's me warm my toes on his belly.
And I cave like warm jelly.
Breaking News!  While writing this post right here and now, my sister has booked tickets to see THESE GUYS.  It's about time; I've been waiting for their new album with baited breath for the last two years.  And that's too long a time to keep your breath baited.

Thai has been singing "Helplessness Blues" for the last 24 hours straight.  He loves the Fleet Foxes.  Not as much as say, Tupac (he was born with with a booty shake), but the whole folk-thing has really been growing on him.