A slight confession:

I've been home since Monday night.

I've spent a total of 23 minutes on the computer since then.

It's so funny; a week away from the 'webs and I feel so lost on your lives!  What have you done?  What have you seen?  What did you eat to celebrate your independence? 

(I ate approximately one pound of road-side-purchased cherries completely by myself and, in case you were wondering, felt fantastic)

This week we drove inland to a tiny mountain town with rivers rushing and temperatures nearing triple digits.

I remembered how much I love the scent of heat.  How it varies as the thermometer climbs and a bouquet of clay dust, oak leaves, snow melt, blooming blackberries and pastured horses swirls through one's hair.  How the scent lands on one's skin like wild perfume and how driving around in a bikini top makes all the sense in the world.

In other news, as many have asked, the official answer is no, no I have STILL not packed a single box.  And no, the contractor is STILL not finished in our new home.  Blerg.  I'm impatient.  I've measured and remeasured every room, every stick of furniture, I've mentally arranged paintings and house plants and books and wine glasses.  I've sketched out the plans for the yard and it's future raised beds at least four times now.  But more than anything else I'm DESPERATELY ITCHING to set up my new studio.  Did I mention the light pours in the windows like a whole heavenly host belting out Bohemian Rhapsody?  Or that the view East looks out over the river and the low lying mountains beyond?
It's magical.
I'm desperate to be there.

I could use every pair of fingers out there crossed in the hopes that the house really and truly will be ready for us to move in next weekend and that Mr. Contrator will continue to show up every day until then (ehem.  We have learned some valuable life lessons on this one).  It's going to happen but like Veruca Salt, "I want it NOOOOOOW!"

Whew.
Patience.
I'm trying.

In the meantime:

Here's to a weekend full of wind in the jowlies!
~ Umber ~

A Day in the Life of the Dove: My Extrovert Cup is Filling Up

[A photographic account of a single day in my life - albeit a very, very long day - of reconnecting with old friends, staying with great friends and preparing for the wedding of an dear friend]

- June 30th 2011 -

5:33 am

7:23 am

8:51 am

10:36 am
(yes friends, that IS the golden gate bridge.  my heart swells every time I drive it)

11:09 am

11:40ish am
(photo credit to the bride-to-be, Miss AvenueFog)

12:23 pm

1:14 pm

3:17 pm

4:01 pm

5:02 pm

6:45 pm

9:11 pm

10:23 pm
(photo credit to Mr. Sunny Rising)

10:38 pm


And that, my friends, was a Day and a half.  I am BLESSED with brilliant women in my life.  I'll be staying down in the general San Francisco area until next week, submersed in friends, a wedding, puppies and lots of travel.  See You Laters!

Buried Treasure

~ A [mostly] true tale of turquoise and intrigue ~

The year was 1903 and she was on the run.  She had wrapped a black scarf over her long braids, the edges pulled close around the contours of her face.  In the deep pockets of her stolen sailor pants were crammed every possession she could call her own; both honestly earned and pick-pocketed with nimble fingers.  Her feet were bare, calloused, browned, and she swung her legs with a man’s stride.  She skirted the edge of the river, avoiding the thorny berry brushes trailing water, listening for dogs and the sounds of pursuit. 

But the night was silent aside from the occasional slap of the current on deadwood snags.  As the moon rose higher, she began to breath a little freer, her heart beating a little slower.

She needed a place to rest but more importantly, a place to hide.  A place to bury the treasures wrapped tightly in her pockets, a place she could find again once the coast was clear, after her face was forgotten by the local vigilantes.  A place she could leave the Box.

The Box held both the reason for her run and the hopes for her future.  The label was already peeling away from the sliding lid, but the wood was still deeply scented with cigars.  Inside, bundled in a length of buckskin, was the turquoise.  Big, beautiful hunks colored like the waters she sailed in the South Pacific, tiny, delicate slivers whose intensity was rivaled only by the most exotic of butterflies, some clear and flat like a morning sky, others speckled with ebony veins.  But every single one a beauty.  She hadn’t meant to steal them, but when the color caught her eye, she couldn’t look away.  That rare and luscious color was worth a small fortune, enough to buy a horse, food to fill a knapsack, and enough silver to hide in brand new boot heels when she rode North.

She was hungry, two days on the run hungry.  As the moon began to dip behind the treeline she found the spot.  Two young cottonwoods, slanting away from each other like shy lovers, formed a perfect V, framing the pre-dawn moon.  She worked quickly, hands digging in the soft soil at their base, until the hole was twice the depth of her precious cargo.  Hesitating momentarily, she buried the box and said a quick prayer into the night, more concerned with the safety of her glowing turquoise than with her person.  And with that, she slipped away on muffled toes under the cover of an inky sky.

It was 2009 and my parents were welcoming the dawn song from the hulls of two forest green kayaks.  They had paddled upstream, as was their routine, while the air still held the chill of night, before the beavers could be heard slapping tails and splashing at the river’s edge.  The sunrise was thick with golden light and the flashing of the sky on silky currents.  As they turned their kayaks midstream, to float easily with the river, an angular shape caught their eyes.  A worn wood box, water stained and sun faded, was lodged at the base of one, or was it two, mighty cottonwoods.  With a bit of work they managed to paddle close, fighting off brambles and snags, leaning perilously far out, working the edges of the box with fingertips until they could pry it loose.

And inside, well, that part of the story you’ve already heard.

And that's the honest truth.  A glorious host of turquoise cabochons truly were wrapped tight in leather and a cigar box and plucked from the muddy banks of the Mokelumne River by my parents.
 They contain more magic, more history, more story than can be quantified by my simple prose.

I've set them simply, oxidized them lightly.  Four pairs, one traveling to my mother (as she was the one to find the stones and deserves to wear this magic on her lobes), the other three I offer to you.  You'll find them in the shop momentarily...
* * * * *
And on that note:
Happy Friday to you ALL!  May your weekends be filled with swashbuckling tales!
~ Umber ~

A Very Quick This and That

I know I may have said it before, but I mean it more every time I utter the words:

Thank You.

The women [and men too] who make up this bloggy-world simply never cease to amaze me with their kindness, encouragement, belief and support.

I am in awe.

Like, full rainbow ring around the sun awe.

In other news, today promises to be another day full of hustle (wait.  is it Wednesday? holy... ) so I'm popping in here and bouncing right back out, scruffy jeans, beat-up tennies, and another cup of joe all on the agenda.

Oh!  And in our talks about dog numero dos (ah yes, we're already chatting rather obsessively about growing the pack) we came across this yesterday.  It was the best thing I saw all day.  Thank god for the internet.

See you tomorrow!

~ Umber ~

They've Arrived!!!

I invited them in for Sencha and cookies.
They stayed through the gin and tonic hour.

And now I'm VERY pleased to say, they're trotting their papery little behinds on over to the Shop!  It's high time we had another round of postcards, don't you think?  After all, mail is one of my favorite things on this green earth, so why don't we all send a little more of it!

Collections: A Plethora of Post

I'm a fiend for collecting.  I stuff feathers in mason jars.  I pile stones on window ledges.  I love looking at bones, smoothing fingertips along antlers, finding sea glass in jacket pockets, driftwood in zippered bags, pressed ferns in books and eucalyptus pods in the consol of the car.  I adore bringing the outdoors in, steeping myself in nature while I cook, clean, work, relax, connecting... connecting... to that dust which I am made of and the world which inspires my breath and hands.
In my own home I compulsively arrange these particles of beauty for no other reason that it fills my soul and brings joy to my heart to surround myself with that which I love.  In that spirit, these cards came along and nearly arranged themselves; I just acted as the conductor in their little polka party.

And so with that said, I offer you my newest series of post: a limited edition set of four cards (plus a little bonus love), thick stock and glossy faces, images of small vignettes, little collections.  All items in these photos have either been created by me, collected by my hands, or gifted by those who know me well.  They hold stories, they tell tales.  They've traveled the world and seen more history than I can even imagine.  And now, in postcard form, they're ready to travel the globe.

Pens and Pencils UP!
Letter Writers Unite!
Let's send some cheer through this ol' postal service and light up mailboxes everywhere!

* * * * *
in
the
shop
now
!