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For those patient souls who have followed my blog this year, this is the "year end" of an unexpected journey. Unlike Tolkien's Bilbo and his unexpected journey, I have no mountain to seek, or dwarves to burgle for.  But I embarked just as hurriedly, and without an idea of what laid ahead.  And I found out, like Bilbo, what strength I carried within me.

My husband has been in treatment since a cancer diagnosis from a tardy colonoscopy on New Years Eve, 2012.  ( *If you are 50/over, or having symptoms of "something not right" with your digestive tract, GET CHECKED.  If he had done that 10 years ago, when it was on the schedule, we could have avoided this costly, and almost deadly, year.)  Weeks of radiation therapy, months of chemo, and two surgeries have left both of us weary and wounded -- but ALIVE. His health had consumed both of us...and left us at the end of our reserves.  Then a sketchy scan revealed another problem area, possible metastatic cancer.  A biopsy, with MRI later, and we can have hope  --  no sign of cancer. No guarantee for the future, but for right now, NO cancer.

For me, as the spouse who kept up the house, worked full time, coordinated insurance and doctors visits, dispensed meds, changed ostomy bags and tended wounds, stayed up late and got up early, daily energies were spread thin.  I railed at God, wrestled with my faith, and questioned everything. I can imagine how much like a two-year old's tantrum, my frustrations appeared to Him.  One thing that remained, as a beacon of hope -- my art.  I went to the studio over and over again, snatching time to work on this and that.  I took solace in that place where Creative Spirit waited.   It soothed my nerves, calmed my moments of panic and brought hope.  Performing my art healed my heart and restored my soul. 

Now, we've reached a rest station on this journey, and we have time to rebuild, each in body and mind.  We are reclaiming what cancer stole from us.  My creativity, simmering on the back burner, is back at full boil, and steady work is being created.  What a luxury to place a canvas on the easel, push out puddles of paint, and get to work!  A thousand new ideas are taking root, begging to be next, impatiently prodding me to go to the studio.  Paint large or small - why not both? What joy!

What lies ahead in 2014 is wrapped in ribbons of time -- expectant and waiting to be revealed.  We hope the cancer stays away, and healing continues.  Now we know what we are made of, now we know what we can endure, and we are not afraid.    I have accumulated a circle of caring friends who love me and encourage me.  I have a deeper appreciation for my family.  The difficulties of the past year have helped me value each and every moment of joy. My art still lives, is still active, and continues to grow. Through it all, life is good.  Welcome 2014.

It seems everyone who putters in the earth each growing season gets itchy in the midst of winter.  The catalogs come, alive with color and promise of glorious displays.  One can almost feel the warmth of Spring's sun and perceive the stirrings within the earth.  A gardener is once and always a dreamer.

For the painter, reality is as close as the palette and brush.  Gardens bloom at the stroke of paint, roses blush with the artist's wish.  In Winter's chill, anything is possible.  Even the blossom.