And now, A Revival : Springtime in three short acts

Every time I am making some progress on putting out another blog, I find that reality has gotten flipped over again, like a potato bug on its back, flailing legs thin as eyelashes to get right-side-up. Or sometimes like the keys on the keyboard have all slid onto the floor like beads from a broken necklace and I'm just pounding my fingers on a plank of plastic. In any case, here are words for you! A synopsis, a breakdown, a holy revival of the last few months in three parts:

Act One:
March 2008- Blue skies and sun touching my skin and hair like a reconciled love after a winter of cool detachment. The kind of glorious day that is golden and carefree, spending hours as if there were no end to them. I'm visiting friends in Portland and getting ready to travel. After a year of living out on the north coast of Oregon, money has been saved, a plane ticket has been bought, the jobs quit and guidebooks perused. Despite the years of vague but intense dreams about South America involving mountains, blissfully weary feet and spectacular Spanish language skills, I found that I was unconvinced I would actually go. I had confessed to a friend that in the edges of my thoughts, I was worried about my mom. She kept talking about how she couldn't seem to get over her cold and she had balance problems, as well as running into things on her right side. Not enough to create real worry, but nonetheless, something unresolved poking away at the ol' subconscious.

Getting into my car to drive back to my house in Astoria, I find that there are several messages from my mom on my cellphone, each increasingly drawn with anxiety.

• Message one: "Will you give me a call when you get a chance? There are some things that are going on that are a little strange."

• Message two: "Call me, I need to talk to you."

• Message three: "Gretchen, just call. Call as soon as you can it's important."

Sitting in the car in North Portland, panic starting to swell from the spine, threatening to explode in a cascade of morbid possibilities. In the middle of dialing my mom's number, I lose track of myself and feel I have tuned into channel 34. "These are the Day's of Our Lives.....the soap opera introduction becomes my mom's voice.

"Mom, are you okay?" I ask hearing weighty breaths on the other side of the line.

"No, I'm not." My mom responds, her voice cracking. "I have a brain tumor."

The words oh my god, come out. I am reading the script, to a ridiculous and melodramatic take on life. Next thing you know one of us will be pregnant and another hypnotized into committing 'Murder!' I think I'll play along with this, expressing words that seem appropriate to the insane conversation taking place. Unfortunately, it was true.