To Begin Again

It's been almost a year
since I have typed a single word on this page.
Having circled it again and again,
unable to even read my former posts.
Wishing tho, I had completed part two,
of 'The School Of Seuss',
(it contained some pretty witty stuff.)

Because this time last year,
a different life was in motion.
Dreams realized and beginning,
creatively on fire, every door 
in my house, papered to capture the flow,
great fame and fortune attracted and promised.
And one point, I knew had it all,
even said it outloud
I was being paid to illustrate a children's book,
And? I was in love!
Life couldn't have been any richer.

But what followed was a year of great grief and
occurrences that broke me in ways
I have never known or could have anticipated.

Creativity had always been my souls language,
the written word the air I breathe,
constant and without cease, the flow endless.
Even as a kid with band aid covered knees,
to the insecure teenager with a blemished face,
the natural desire to write in prose,
guided me through any dark night
that threatened to yank me
from my spiritual self.
It was the Voice that called my name,
infused me with wisdom and purpose.
My trust in it was without question...
my relationship consistent and loyal,
 I had never known a time without it,
...ever!

But this ability suddenly left me.
With the arrival of an email, 
one day last May.
An email that cancelled out nine months of labor,
a contracted storybook of rhymes.
Suddenly, the pink poetic rabbit gone,
the book unfinished, contract breached,
a public promotional campaign
ceased embarrassingly and without conclusion
and the unresolved absence 
of the one 'someone' loved.
All whipped away at once,
in a dark gray summer wind.
With them, went all my words as well.
A kind of debilitating fever
of anxiety prevailed.
And I was financially, emotionally, spiritually
and creatively bankrupt.

That was six months ago,
I am less so.

Journeys' have surprises, twists and turns
we don't even see coming.
The loss of one thing becomes the birth of another,
and as human spirits we learn to begin
and begin and begin.
We trust and trust some more,
despite the contradicting evidence.
Cause that one path traveled may morph into a
a yellow brick road that has a destination
you never considered exploring,
a place you can't remember even wanting to go,
complete with little 'munchins' to lead the way
and a band of fellow travelers
to cheer you along.

Don't get me wrong,
I haven't exactly found my way to OZ
or back home yet....
but this is a beginning and I need to begin.
So why not here?
Cause I have a story to tell
and in the past?
My words couldn't resist being apart
 of a good story!

Granted, it doesn't feel like the "old" magic 
has returned yet,
the words still stiff and formal from their slumber
but we are getting reacquainted again
and trying to figure out WHO,
really, abandoned who?

Pam Reinke -Piper Rain

Research or The School Of Seuss?

I don't know if you heard yet....

but I am writing a book!

And like all authors,

I know I must do some ground work,

some research.

But because it is a children's book,

my research will be different and

I'll begin with.... of course, the master.

My long time

rhyme writing mentor, Thedore Giesel,

known as Dr. Seuss.

Fortunately, for me,

I don't have to cross any continents

(or maybe unfortunately,

I'd like to have

the same excuse Elizabeth Gilbert did

with Eat, Pray, Love.

And go to Bali

and live with MY spiritual mentor

but...)

Sigh, what I NEED is right here.

In my own office/studio~house.

Because within these four walls

is everything Seuss.

Either collected or given as gifts over the years,

all versions of my favorite books,

some copies containing all of them,

which could be considered

the encyclopedia of Seuss

(Encyclopedia?

Who has those anymore?

An old fashioned word for

...um... Google, I think)

One red striped office wall

'Cat in the Hat' like,

two custom designed converse shoes

and my own Cat in the Hat~ hat

(okay, time to abbreviate that)

and even an old CITH doll.

All which is rather strange because as

previously stated

(in a former blog)

THAT character,

The Cat in The Hat?

Has always been my least favorite character

of all of them.

(Had to do with the fear

of never wanting to get in trouble as a kid.)

But I have since resolved that

and embraced my 'Inner Hat Cat!'

Which NOW, means taking chances,

making messes,

AND not listening to 'the fish in the pot'.

Who will always tell you, "you better not,

be careful, don't do it".

You know 'the fish' who are afraid to have fun

and if you actually do? Best not to tell anyone!

So my research involves this:

Looking through the books again and again,

the drawings of imaginative animals,

the wild perspective of odd shaped,

fantastical buildings,

while listening to various celebrities

read the stories out loud on I Tunes.

(BTW My favorite is the rendition of

The Grinch read by scary man

Christopher Walken...yikes!)

Course this then becomes very intimidating

because there is no way I will ever

capture his rhythm

and should I even try to?

I mean ripping off Dr. Seuss,

just seems wrong,

kind of like trying to copy

Michelangelo.

And Dr Seuss's drawings?

Although, lacking in the vivid

color department for me

(maybe the print palette back then

just had less colors?)

I just love their wild outrageousness.

Spanning whole pages after whole pages.

Inviting the imagination to participate

full throttle and at any age.

But soon I begin to wonder

what am I really doing?

Sitting here with my CITH coffee cup,

trying to channel and copy Dr Seuss.

When does inspiration become

more like intimidation,

and a poor replica

of someone's masterpiece?

BUT still what if there was a school

I could go to....

you know like....ahhhhhh, YES,

The School Seuss!

Hmmmm.

Of course the address

would be 123 Mulberry Street

and there would be.....

(More tomorrow!)

Pam Piper Rain

Page 3~ While Playing Around

In case you just tuned in?

I am in search of words,

ones that will hit the page perfectly,

as if they we were just waiting

for me to lay out the paper...

for them to land on!

So far it's not happening sitting at a table

with the right clothes on......

and perfect cup of coffee!

SO...I decide to...!

Get Out! In the world,

Away from the desk,

and the uninspiring outfits,

the rabbit invasion outside the window,

where the dog will be happy

and see what the desert has to say!

With new running shoes on,

I head to the lakes edge.

In Rikii MuZe's world,

it's the Whacka Whee River.

(Try saying that over and over really fast!)

Across the Bridge to When,

to the Island of What If.

It had been suggested early on

that Rikii and company would

live somewhere like Lake Havasu City.

Because from their very first visit,

John and Lee, while having lunch next

to the famous London Bridge,

(They are from England, remember?)

They felt it was a unique and wacky place.

This desert paradise on a large river

in the middle of nowhere.

I loved it... and the name Myz Tikkle Town

was scripted to the paper doorways.

This island is where I come for exercise

and inspiration.

My wide open playground of possibilities

outlined in a fringe of liquid indigo.

Running, my long time form

of moving mediation.

I wind my way along

the dips and inclines of the landscape,

and breath it in, drink it even.

All of it.

The barren beauty, the winter light,

so different than the summer kind!

High contrasts of shadow play.

The lake (or River) reflecting color

as deep as an ocean's hues,

brilliantly frigid looking

in it's Brrrrr Blue.

Oh, just a note, I DID leave

the fleece pants behind!

Phew! (see prior post)

There is no defined path here,

just edges that fall away,

trailed mini mountains that invite you

into their valleys

only to make you climb straight up again

on the other end!

Sometimes I take these,

sometimes I don't.

The terrain's, ever changing

and unfamiliar.

Like life, I suppose.

(oh, that was far too obvious to write,

I suppose...and yet?)

And there this tree,

The Allowing Tree,

that is never in the same place,

I swear!

Light on my feet this am

after writing virtually nothing,

in my new tennis, black

and surprisingly? YES, pink!

Dog flying by my side with happy ears,

over hill and dale!

When my new partners

and I initially met,

we discussed backgrounds,

because although

the dried banana leaf paper

had been sufficient enough

for the Wild Women series,

it wouldn't be for children's stories!

"And where will they live?" they asked.

This question sent me into

a panic, last April!

Live? They don't live anywhere!

And certainly nothing as mundane

as a house or rabbit hut.

Winnie the Pooh images flooding in

and it felt too cliche for the characters

I meant to create.

So where then?

And just like Rikii's name,

(while running one day,)

it suddenly came to me.

They will live in Lighthouses!!!

Of course, it was perfect!

Magic lighthouses that move around

the island (like the tree)

never in the same location,

where they were last seen.

In whimsical colors,

designed with slides, funny door knobs,

odd shaped windows

and bucket like roofs.

Because on the island... in MY real life

and along the edges of the lake,

are lighthouses!

Years ago, a group got together to create

a series of lighthouses

that are exact replicas

of famous ones from around the country.

These lighthouses,

(and I wish I knew more about this)

are not just for looks,

they guide boaters around

the sharp cliffed edges of a night time shore.

They are cool and fun, candy striped,

East coast looking, castle like,

one is even from my hometown cliffs

of Lake Superior!

There is one of these lighthouses,

in the distance,

it becomes my destination,

realizing I have never really sat on

or near one before.

Running near, paddling by

or boating past, yes,

but not sitting with them.

Or lets say, I have not yet 'experienced' one.

I reach it and lean on this particular one

that is half red and half white.

There is graffiti all over, but nice graffiti

epithets of juvenile love.

And in the spirit of the candle party,

I attended the previous night,

where we had to guess the fragrance,

of samples as they were passed around,

in which I was inspired to come up

with names like

Baby Butts or Bazooka Pink and Dirty Feet.

I started to think of descriptions!

Hmmm? So,

this lighthouse could be called,

Half Licked Lollipop.

That's it! The lighthouses need names!!!

Of course...like Briggiedy Blue Saturday,

One Stripe and Periwinkle Pockets !!!!!!

Thats's good! Quick, write it down....

Crap, no notebook it's two miles across desert

in my jeep.

So it is a race back to the paper,

while being chased by idea after idea!

And this when I know...

THIS is how it works...

how it has always worked.

I don't sit in

my dining room waiting for it to find me...

staring out the window....

For me? It is in the act of movement,

participation, interaction,

paying attention to the world,

in the voices of lighthouses

and herons, even the seagulls

(who don't seem to like me, much.)

in looking for heart shaped stones,

building stone people,

having a kite strung from my hands.

THIS is where the magic finds me,

in acts of playing and silly communion

where imagination becomes ignited

with 'what if after what if?'

In synchronistic confirmation,

there is an email from

my friend 'hippie gypsy mother of four,'

who had just read my last

post about the Unprocess of Writing,

and writes most profoundly:

(and it seems I am not the only one

thinking in rhymes....these days.)

"Your job today, is to get out and play

follow the flow, catch and release rainbows.

Frantastic, spoonastic, make it hoohoobulus fun.

Then pull out your pen and dream up some drum,

Putting flow to paper and swirling colors round,

It will only be found when playing around."

And she is right!

But I DO think I might have to design

some paper pants

and maybe wear a pen on a rope around my neck!

for those inspirational moments

when that notebook is in the distance...

a long ways from that 'Barber Shop' lighthouse

on What If Island.

Pam Piper Rain

Page 2 The Un~process of Writing

Rising from the thrashed

tangled tide of sheets, it's early...

(feline early,

meaning they are not up nor

are they getting up anytime soon.)

But I am and have to be!

It's time to chase the magic,

well, more like try to find it.

AND then chase it down and

wrestle it to the page, willing or unwilling,

good or awful, trite or profound,

something must be netted at this time!

Cause this is my job...

and I am showing up for it.

This time? From 5 to 7.

Before the world wakes up

outside my window, inside my computer

(social media distractions, stay away, stay away.)

Two hours to write something before

the dog starts to block my path,

(the one I walk the same time everyday

just in case I forgot I had ONE ,

she thinks tripping over her might

help her cause.)

Before the phone stars to buzz with texts

and demands and inquires,

equally impossible to ignore.

Before I start to get 'Leadership head'

more planning, more fussing, more fretting!

So I make the perfect cup of coffee,

sit at my dining room table,

not glancing in the direction

of the pouty dog

and stare out the window

for any sign of the sun and

I am ready to begin the process...!

The process?

This would be where I write about it,

I suppose!

Except... I don't really have one

and quite frankly I should BY now!

For me it's always been random.

like while driving somewhere

and making an erratic stop,

to jot a phrase that sometimes

feels handed to me from the heavens,

and usually a one shot deal.

A take it or 'we are finding someone else

whose NOT driving' to give it to!

It's the kind of gift

that can happen in the grocery store

or paddling

(a very inconvenient time for inspiration)

it happens in conversation.

In which, I get a certain look

and am handed a pad of paper,

by observant friends.

Before the Rikii MuZe

contract was signed,

I was on fire,

writing on butcher papered doorways,

wipe and erase boards, chalkboards even

on any scrap of paper I could find,

my house littered with them

and notebooks started, lost,

a new one started and lost!

But in that time of chaotic creativity

Rikii MuZe was born, his name brainstormed

on a June day...

with my closest friend,

bouncing the spewing nonsense back to me,

while paddle boarding.

His name had to be just right,

I don't even think

I realized the responsibility

at the time, it was just fun!

We'd laugh, knowing right away NO that's not it,

it had to fit and be the name of a poet,

a poet extraordinaire.

Wanting to incorporate lyric or limerick or rhymes,

some poetic reference!

Wish, I could remember the other names,

but I don't, only the moment I said his name out loud

on the west side of the island,

standing in the middle of the lake...

it was a 110 degree day and I GOT the chills,

and knew it was right!

Rikii MuZe, with two i's like bunny ears

and muse with a capital Z.

I had found him and he had found me.

This is the magic!

The magic, I am looking for this morning.

Hmm? Wondering if

those fuzzy fleece cloud patterned pants

will provide inspiration?

You know, like if one is 'reaching for the sky,'

it will be more likely to occur while

wearing cloud pants. Right?

I put them on , grab another cup of coffee

and close the door on the mopey popey dog!

And...still nothing!

Back to the story:

In the months to follow,

there were many more moments to match that one!

A list of funny names begin rattling in my head

collected from wherever they come from!

Tuttle Pod's name inspired by an email

from Tuttle and Page,

(some business I have yet

to get another e mail from????)

My hippie gypsy friend and mother of four told me

a story about a make believe

character her child believed in.

With the very complicated name of Toe Dee Knony,

(took awhile to figure out the spelling on that one.)

Another friends misspelled name gave me, Jillie Gee!

My favorite poet turned into Rumi Roo

and on it went.

I had so many ideas

soon, I was running from papered door to papered door,

scribbling the ideas as THEY chased me down.

"Wait, wait, I would yell I am out of paper!"

NOW! It's an hour later,

the sun is up and still nothing...

oddly enough, 'rabbits' have taken over the yard,

hopping here and there and everywhere!

The plain beige ones

that don't get Rikii's polka dotted pinkness.

Called Willy Nilly and TanDum Jack,

UGH, are they all taunting me?

Hmmm! Maybe my lucky race bandanna will help,

the one with the cross bones and skulls,

and of course the socks that match!!

Right away, I know these clothing additions

are NOT going

to provide any 'word juice' other than

probably... Arghhh!

So anyways the story:

Soon, I had 22 animal names,

a clear concept of Rikii's qualities

and philosophies and an outline of four stories.

At that time, it was ALL I could think of!

A road trip the end of June,

with my funny bright best friend, Mary Lou,

that should have

taken only six hours and instead lasted ten!

With nine U turns or more, we ended up in Mexico,

rather than our destination, San Diego.

But in the process...

we manage to connect the names to all the animals

and although lost more often than not,

magic was definitely on board for that trip!

So? Do I NEED to take a ten hour trip then?

Have paper ready at the drop of a thought,

wake up in the middle of the night

nagged by something, that won't let me sleep....

I guess so because....

Sitting here in my fuzzy cloud pants,

lucky skull and cross bones race bandanna on,

(& matching socks)

with the perfect cup of coffee,

and tattered rhyming dictionary at the ready,

while a whole family of rabbits multiplies

before my eyes,

is getting me nothing....

nata... no magic.

Its 7 and time to begin my other life

and all I wrote is this blah, blah blog

about the process or rather

the un~process of beginning!

So I decide to....

Pam Piper Rain

A Retrospective Beginning (Prologue)

Words have magic!
Add an illustration to that
(or in the other order)
and you have something of wonder,
that could stay
with someone for years!

I KNOW this
because I have always loved children's books,
I poured over them,
taking the imagination destination ride,
devouring and committing
most, almost all of them, to memory.
Knowing early on...
the craft of
poetry and pictures was
an art form, unrivaled!

Dr. Seuss, was my unknowing mentor,
my illustrative rhyming hero!
Never really wanting to be him,
only to indulge in his delightful tales
read out-loud at any age
to 'anything' with ears!
(mostly my cats)

If we are lucky, we remember
who we really ARE
and are designed to be...
as children and THEN hopefully as adults
(and whenever that path becomes muddy)
we can look there for the answers,
to that ever guiding star,
leading back to our earliest passions!

I loved to write,
it was my natural language
(more so then the verbal one.)
And I was a devoted critic of illustrations
and cartoons.
Only because I knew what I liked!
(Bright colors, heavy outlines)

Although, my wide eyed angelic drawings
called Krippets were adored by my small hometown,
(yes, that is glitter in their hair. geeez!)
my fellow college students and professors saw them
as an artistic failure and an embarrassment.
(Paintings with Rainbows? Seriously)
But, I managed to graduate
(somehow) and
after teaching awhile, here and there
I took the chance and stepped out on my own.

Eventually, turning from a love for
highly realistic and detailed oils,
to a series of surrealistic and a dramatic images
in an exploration of religion and sexuality.
(Also, fairly angelic in nature...hmmm?)

Which, I worked on incessantly for years (and years,)
seeking that unattainable perfection...
until I finally, pulled them off the stretchers,
rolled them up and hid them (to date)
in my closet!

I was surprised in 1990
that I could actually sell my inspirational poems!
Ones taken directly
from my heart wrenching, self serving,
semi sniveling journals and with great shyness (and risk)
page by page, calligraphy by hand, placed on torn paper,
and mounted on mat board, I labored with love!
(My hands still hurt to remember that time.)

When I got over my antiquated philosophy
that "computers were the "anti art."
I found I had an amazing tool with which to
not only write,
but enhance my designs...as well as Voila',
print them myself and by the dozens,
with just a touch of a button (and a mouse)!

Then a series of petrogylph like characters found a following
with the use of bright whimsical color
and meaningful sayings.
It seems, I had created my first faceless stick people
that would become simple symbols of joy
dance and...all of "humanity."

As an avid cat lover, couldn't resist
adding some smirky feline designs and poems
called Brat Cats,
Then I rescued my first dog
and was 'puppy inspired.' (For life.)

Meanwhile, the non gender petrogylphs
became decidedly female,
with animal print clothing
and could only be called, Wild Women.
Faceless femininity, celebrating
our 'getting older and our getting bolder',
and the 'girlfriends' we travel the journey with.
Here, I found they had more meaning
more appeal, when I added
a ryhming poem to them!

The serious poetry continued
but in the background
and more for my private journaled musings!
And then for the Magnetic Women series.

In an effort to be taken more seriously
as a painter, maybe even a FINE art painter
(cause for some reason,
I bristled when called an illustrator!)
An ethereal and less controlled style
was attempted
and I wanted to tell short cryptic clever stories
with these (again) faceless ladies!
Which have proven to be my all time
favorite style and series!
With ten total in the collection,
I have yet to part with any of the originals
at this time.... for ANY price!

In due course, I found myself
with my own card/print company.
I wrote, designed, published,
painted, framed, marketed, packaged,
promoted, distributed
and 'schlepped' my sh—-, um, work
around to art shows
and retail stores across the country...
for...well... forever!

A contract with Blue Mountain Art
helped for awhile!
Then suddenly, it was twenty one years later,
and I was tired...very tired!

At which point, I was up to ten different collections
and possibly over 400 published designs.
(The Wild Women designs at nearly 90!)

Although, I continued to love children's books,
collecting them for my 'childless home'
and displaying them in my office.
(Which resembles a small children's library!)
I had no plans to ever write one!
Everyone seemed to want to do that
and it was too much of a cliche
to even utter it out loud or consider!

Yet, through a series of magical events
I discovered...
this is exactly what I was meant to do...
what I was always destined to do
and it took this long to know,
this long to believe...
this long to begin!

And I am doing so because
two English gentlemen
saw a white/pink polka dotted rabbit
on a Wild Women painting
last April, at a show and asked,
"have you ever thought
about doing a children's book?"
I don't remember my answer...!

So, I find myself
beyond humbled (and terrified) by the opportunity
to 'maybe' create images and words that
will be held in such long lasting and equal wonder
as 'Green Eggs and Ham' and 'Ping' did for me!

In an attempt to document this journey,
(and return to the practice of writing)
I have revamped my blog page... (finally!)

And this...is the first page of that story!

Pam Piper Rain

The Seed

Then the day arrives...

and you know its time,

time to let go

and turn away from...

when the whisper in your ear

becomes a shout

and it's all you can hear

you recognize it

because its been stalking you

and it sits in your belly

like a weight needing flight

recognizing

holding on is no longer

the option,

truth and hope wear

a new outfit now,

and you want

to scream why? why?

and more why's?

until your voice is ragged

and there is only

silence in reply

and your fingers tremble

as you lift them

in a gesture of release

and what ever it is

flutters away in a flurry

to be free

your raised eyes

see it

knows it's what you

were waiting all along

....to finally do

and the seed of surrender

takes root!

Pam Piper Rain

If you found this poem

and this blog today...

you were meant to.

Peace surrounds you!

Proof

Tempe Race Day!

It has its own breed of anticipation,

that which is imagined

and expected with historic

reasoning for a spring race...

things...like too much sunshine on skin

in shades of various reds,

lots of water, colorful chairs, the preview of

other teams enviable jersey designs,

a tunnel of high fives

to greet our many dock exits,

maybe even pinwheels and hula hoops,

but definitely tank tops, flip flops

Julie's (John's mom) now famous cookies,

and excited gleeful smiles on new

and seasoned racers greeting one another,

tons of medals, pictures and teammate-ship.

(not really a word but I like it!)

But it didn't exactly go that way!

Its 5:00 am race day we are up early,

maybe too early

when the hotel door is opened

to the sound and sight of pouring rain.

Really?

Naively, hopefully, we want the forecast

to be wrong and calls are made seeking

a desired 'cancelled' confirmation.

Because we are desert paddlers and simply?

We don't do rain!

Unless there is lighting the Race is ON!

We, my party of four,

keep our eyes to the sky for any sign!

Soon, it is evident that some of us are

more prepared than others,

also, some of us are inclined

to whine more than others,

and mental notes are

made for who will win the

Whiners Award! ( a pacifier)

it's a clear choice, without any contender.

( I won't mention her name here, ha)

So on we go, trudging our usual

abundant collection of accessories,

it seems all paddlers need for the day,

chairs, food, tents and stuff

we can not do with out for 6 hours!

Dragging it to our little patch

of soggy real estate at the top of the grassy knoll!!

It's grim, it's gray,

it's wet, it's cold

40 something for a typical 90 degree day

in April and there is no lighting in sight!

Pure misery?

Would seem so,

but this is what happens...

clothes are shared,

paddlers do without so

someone else can be

a bit more comfortable,

we sit in cars a lot

with the unpleasant smell of wet neoprene,

but are retrieved when our race is up,

we give up any

and all sense of fashion and

take after Anita's paddling version

of bag ladies,

for tolerable almost warmth,

people stay even tho WE all want

to drive home...

to sunny temps knowing if anyone leaves

others won't be able to race.

(That's commitment. )

We tease one another

and thank those who were talked into this

"its so much FUN" event, for coming!

Good with whatever seat is given

after many calculated reformatting

from Sara and her race chart,

now very shredded and wet.

There is still the high five tunnel off the dock

cause the host team is happy, encouraging

and grateful for every team that showed,

and stayed to play and paddle.

Most of THEM are traditionally barefoot..brrr!

A generous guest paddler

returns with two boxes

of hot coffee, and becomes

every ones best friend and hero!

The turns are flawless, lanes widened,

one of us steering most of the races,

two, the rest... and another,

for the first time!

We all rally and greet other teams

with happy

"great to see you's"

we share food, clothes, tents,

blankets with them

and Yes, Julie's famous cookies.

A sweet distraction as we huddle together like

prairie horses against the wind.

"What the hell, give me another cookie."

For myself I wore a big blue

kite like tarp, resembling Violet Beauregarde

(the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka's story)

it was goofy but it cut the wind!

And everyone wanted that poncho

when I left it behind to race!

Didn't' care that my hair

was stuck to my head,

mascara running,

or that the tips of my fingers

were frozen off or

was developing a rash from being in wet clothes

too long.

Decided to say, YES, to whatever,

while enjoying who was who

just by their ankles and eyes,

cause thats all that was showing.

Steered my first race in three miles of rain

deceptively telling the crew

"we are almost there!"

Was won over by MJ's hobbling attendance

after a knee surgery just to support us.

Loved that the host team

asked if we really had two 69 year old novices?

Yes we do!!!

Enjoyed a co ed race that was an exciting

cat mouse chase game,

that had everyone on their feet

wondering who would take it.

(It felt like first all the way!)

Loved that Carol brought the pinwheels

and John's mom always remembers.

And that as abundant as the rain,

the goosebumps and the cold crinkled faces

and blue lips, were bright smiles

and warmth and medals!

(one for everyone that raced)

...that there was that familar

feeling of "family,"

the one that has carried

many of us, over years

and years of "paddletics" and conflict

just

to continue to be devoted

to a crazy sport we love,

in sometimes crazy conditions, like today...

with crazy people we ultimately

end up loving as well.

WHY? Because its what we do

and as Kuba our tireless race director

would say, "its all good"...

and today ...was proof!

Pam (Piper Rain)