Aftermath

It's the time of year where the news programs are filled with "year in review" segments, predictions for the future, look-backs and all. I have a lot to reflect on this year but in a different way. I've been thinking more and more about the things that I was doing just before I was diagnosed and it really just baffles me. Just a couple months before, we were in Miami living the life at a wedding. Literally, the week before I was admitted to the hospital I was running with Sammy full tilt on a hot day through the neighborhood. No matter how much I reflect, it still just doesn't make sense and I suppose it probably never will.

The oddest thing is this whole transition from patient to survivor. I use the "survivor" term loosely as I'm still not completely out of the woods. I've been feeling a lot of fullness in my chest and having the occasional pains still. That led to an echocardiogram, which was all clear -heart's still strong - and now I go in for another PET-CT Scan on Monday - two weeks earlier than scheduled. Hopefully this will finally be an all-clear and I can get this constant physical reminder that is my port o-u-t out!

But I digress ... . What's so different about being "post-chemo" is that I no longer have that "eye on the prize" goal. There was always that light at the end of the tunnel - the 12th treatment - when I knew it would be over. However, now that I'm past that, I realize that it's not over and that it probably never will be. It's the issues that arise during survivorship that no one really talks about. I didn't get any preperation about the long-term effects. I suppose that's because every oncologist has enough bad news to dish out to you having to explain to you the fact that you not only have cancer, but you have to go through hell to treat it - nevermind telling you that your body and mind will never be the same. That would have been way too much to process at the beginning of all of this - inevitable system overload.

But now, that drive, that hope, that ultimate goal has faded because there is no longer an endpoint. I will forever be wondering if the cancer will remanifest itself. I will forever live with the long-term havoc wrecked on my body. I was listening to The Stupid Cancer Show this week. The episode was focused on "Who the Hell is Hodgkin?" A lot of discussion was centered around how high the Hodgkin cure rates are, but how toxic the treatment is. I posed a question in the chat room to the show's guest oncologist telling him that I had 6 cycles of ABVD and asking him about the long-term effects I could expect from it. He gave it to me straight - fertility problems, neuropathy issues (I still can't feel my lower leg), chronic fatigue, predisposition to other cancers, hormonal imbalances ... the list went on.

That's the thing about being a young adult cancer survivor. I'm not 80 years old and cured. I am only 27 and I thankfully have many, many decades of life to live still. But you don't hear a lot about how the hell you're supposed to handle all of these effects as you keep on living. There is so much positive and so much that I am grateful for, but at the same time I've also found myself getting very frustrated and very emotional at times. Like getting a cast off after many weeks of healing, I guess I naiively thought that I'd be able to walk away from this and get on with my life. Instead, this is my new reality and I need to set new goals with that reality in mind.

I don't believe in New Year's resolutions, but I do believe that this time of year gives a good excuse for a fresh start. Right now the flakes are falling peacefully outside our windows and the ground is blanketed in pure white - everything is clear, raw, fresh and new. And that's how I want to enter 2010. Nothing like a bout with cancer to realize the precious, delicate nature of life and to really get to know and appreciate yourself. I am so eager to do a million different things that it's overwhelming at times. I know now more than ever that you only get one shot at life and one shot at making a difference and a postive mark in this world. I refuse to be ever be content with simply existing. Yes, I am grateful to be alive, but for me that's not enough.

There is absolutely nothing that I can do to reverse what the chemo has done to my body. But what I can do is not let it take me down, to not use it as an excuse, but rather as an added motivator to make the most out of every moment of this life. I'm going to keep on living despite the effects. I'm going to defy the odds and start a family. I'm going to be physically and mentally stronger than ever and I'm not going to be afraid. Every day I know I'll always have those questions in the back of my mind: Is this just a headache? Does this cough mean my chest is again swollen with cancerous lymph nodes? But rather than letting it control me, I need to accept it, awknowledge it and learn to deal with it. My life as of late isn't all Care Bears and rainbows, but it is sure as hell is better than the alternative.

Painted Fireplace

Selective Memory

I've been feeling pretty good. And the better I feel, I realize how badly I felt for a long time. It's amazing how your mind and body can just compensate and make the most of the situation no matter how much you're hurting. I guess that's how I got to be at such an advanced stage of cancer ... .

It definitely feels good to feel good. However, I certainly wouldn't say I'm 100%. I still get pretty tired at the end of every day and don't have my full pep back. Turns out it could take up to a year for that to happen. Other than that, I just get some occasional chest pain and a lot of chest tightness.

Nonetheless, everything still works. We went on a very, long hike today and once my heart rate leveled off I was fine and very proud of myself. I've had to do a full eyebrow shaping and am back to shaving my legs and underarms (the one negative in all of this)! My hair is now fully covering my head. So much so that tomorrow I'm going into work without the customary head scarf I've been wearing for so many months. You can still see my scalp a bit as it is very thin, but there are no more obvious bald patches. I can't believe how fast it has all grown back. It really seemed like one day eyebrows and hair just reappeared. It's not red and it's not curly like Shirley Temple as many warned it would be. But it is very dark and I love it. I suppose that this is in fact my natural color. I guess I didn't really expect it to grow back with vanilla blonde highlights.

I've been working a normal schedule and keeping up with the busy schedule of holiday parties, shopping, snow shoveling, Christmas tree trimming and everything else that comes with this season. It's very hard to even remember when I couldn't do these simple things.

But it all came rushing back when I had a follow-up appointment at the cancer center this week. I suppose this is what's going to happen for the rest of my life while I'm constantly watched for any signs of cancer coming back. Hopefully it will get a little easier as time goes on.

As soon as I walked into the waiting room it brought my right back to my treatment days. Vulnerable. scared. uneasy. lots of anxiety. But I was able to recognize the fact that this time I was there as one of the post-chemo survivors I had always seen bopping in for quick check-ups, hugging and catching up with the nurses. And that's exactly what I did. It was great to see the team even though doing so meant I had to get my finger pricked and my port stuck.

It was most surreal to see my oncologist. I got all welled up sitting there in his room waiting. I could literally feel all the emotions swirling back throughout me. I thought I was going to lose it and just start crying as I remembered my own journey and watched so many others pass by the door at various stages of their own. But I held it together and just felt so incredibly grateful to be there painless and with a clear head.

Dr. Dailey sat down right next to me in his little exam room in the Hartford center and he asked about my post-chemo progress. He felt my lymph nodes on my neck and collar bone, under my arms. All signs point to the all-clear. But even so, he still wants to do one more PET-CT Scan before removing my port. Sigh. January 15 is the big day. If the scan is completely clear then we schedule a port removal surgery and I'll then be followed with a CT-Scan every six months. We talked about planning a pregnancy around my scans (very romantic) as I can't be exposed to radiation while pregnant. He advises that we wait until at least next January to start thinking of trying to build a family to be sure that my body is strong enough and all the toxins are out of my system. It all sounds like a great plan.

Then it was in to see the nurse to have my port flushed. Since it's not being used, I need to come in every month to get some saline and special concoction pumped through it to ensure there are no chances of clotting or build up of fibrous tissue within or around it. So it was another deep breath and needle jab ... hopefully I'll only have to go through that one more time.

After that appointment it's been back to holiday happenings, and I'm very much looking forward to Christmas and Hannukah with the fam. So much to be grateful for this year ... the gifts of the season take on a whole new light. Like all the cards and commercials say, I really am looking forward to a happy and healthy 2010.

The Unbelievable World of Snowflakes

The Unbelievable world of Snowflakes:

"They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?"

Though written centuries earlier Francis Bacon has a response:

"Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand—and melting like a snowflake..."

In the spirit of support.....

Backhausdance is raising funds to fly 11 dancers and a small staff to New York City to perform two full nights of repertory at Joyce SoHo.They've been invited to perform as part of an amazing dance series. Now they just have to get there.

Long Version: Concert dance ain't cheap. Even when you're making money often times it's not enough. For 6 years, Backhausdance has managed to not only survive but succeed at this difficult art form. They've won awards, received rave reviews and managed to maintain a group of amazing dancers. They recently set their sights on expanding their performance schedule out of California and started looking toward the mecca of dance in the U.S.: New York City. Sure enough, almost right away they were invited by Joyce SoHo. to perform. This is an amazing opportunity for them. Not only were they invited to perform, but they are one of only seven companies from all of North America. That's an entire continent, people. It's really big.

So why are they on Kickstarter? They need to get 11 dancers, an Artistic Director, a Managing Director, an Executive Director, and a Lighting Designer all the way across the continent. Oh, and they might need to eat while they're there too. The funds they raise on Kickstarter will be used to purchase airline tickets, pay the salaries of their talented dancers and cover basic production costs. Like I said earlier, concert dance ain't cheap. But they're not just looking for a handout (if you want to just shower them in cash they won't say no,) instead they've put together what they think are some cool rewards for helping them out. And here's another bonus. Backhausdance is a non-profit 501(c)(3) organization so your support is tax-deductible. Once they all settle up, they'll send you a reciept that you can take to your accountant while you feel good about giving to charity.

Suffice it to say this is an amazing opportunity for them as they take their years of success on the West Coast and bring their work to the mecca of dance, New York City. Thank you for supporting Backhausdance.

About our show at Joyce Soho: Backhausdance will be performing an evening length program of repertory: Arrive, a commissioned piece based on a quote by poet-laureate Maya Angelou with music by Mogwai and Explosions in the Sky;Shift, an elegant four-part work with music by Zoe Keating; Sitting on January, the award-winning signature work by Backhausdance, set to music by Bela Fleck and danced effortlessly on wooden chairs; and a world premiere by Jennifer Backhaus.

Celebrate We Did 'Cause Life is Short but Sweet for Certain

Wow. So from the beginning I've been saying that I wanted to host a huge-ass thank-you-for-helping-me-survive-cancer party and I can't believe that it happened. And that it exceeded all of my expectations.

We hosted the aforementioned huge-ass thank-you-for-helping-me-survive-cancer party last Saturday and it felt so good to be celebrating something. It also felt so good to see in person all of the faces behind the cards, casseroles, flowers, and messages. It was a little overwhelming (in a good way) to see them all at once. I've certainly gotten used to being overwhelmed, but this was the complete opposite end of the overwhelmed spectrum.

Even though it was the first snow of the year, we had more than 100 people turn out to celebrate with us. From co-workers and former co-workers to high school friends, college friends and middle school friends to my parents, brother/sister-in-law and baby nephew, and T'Ville neighbors, they came out in full force and Craig and I couldn't have been happier to fill them with delicious bar bites, good music and fantastic drink specials. They came from Delaware, Jersey, upstate New York, New York City, Massachusetts, Washington D.C., and all points of Connecticut.

The tavern we hosted it at was amazing. They even worked with us to create drink specials based on my chemo cocktail of ABVD. But for this night, instead of Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine and Decarbazine, it was $5 Alabama Slammers (A); $2 Bud and Bud Lights (B); $1 off vodka drinks (V); and "Doctor's Orders - take 2 and call me in the morning" - 2-for-1 house wines (D). Much more palatable and makes for a much better party. Everyone there for the party even got a signature ABVD hand stamp for the night. Who knew chemo drug names would make you part of the "in crowd?"

The music was perfect. One guy and his guitar crooning covers of all my favorite artists. We even filled the dance floor late night singing our hearts out to Counting Crows, David Gray, Verve Pipe and Neil Diamond. Then the juke box came alive and the party was really pumping.

I bounced from group to group all night thanking each person profusely and taking in their congratulations and compliments while doing my best to swallow the lump in my throat. All I kept thinking was that each of these people took the time out of their own busy lives to think of us on this night and on so many occasions throughout this roller coaster of an ordeal. Not one day went by that I didn't feel this tremendous force of support around me and I know without a doubt that that's what kept me from falling on my face even when I was down on my knees.

From literally 15 minutes after I sent the e-mail announcing my diagnosis in May, a flower shop truck rolled up the driveway with a huge, gorgeous bouquet from my former co-workers that I immediately blubbered into. I knew right then that I would never be alone.

Yes, I'm young and I had to deal with cancer and its harsh treatments. Yes, it's an awful thing to go through. But because of it, I have been given the clarity to see what an amazing life I have filled with a wealth of amazing people. And the best part? I have my entire lifetime to pay that forward.

The Fabulous Four

Acrylic on 8x10 canvas panel.

For info contact me at

angelasacrylics@yahoo.com

Silver Maples

Silver Maples takes you for a stroll

on a cool spring day down a little

country road to somewhere.

Acrylic on panel board.

8x10

Country Calm

Friend Ships

Phantom Sailer

Acrylic on 16x20 stretched

canvas. For sale. Contact the

artist at angelasacrylics@yahoo.com.

Miniture Pinscher

Painted on comission.

Painting is sold.

Front Porch

Acrylic on canvas panel 8x10.

Old Red

Acrylic on 9x12 canvas panel. For sale contact

artist at angelasacrylics@yahoo.com.

You Two

You Two is a vibrant acrylic painting don on 8x10 canvas

panel.

Transition

I plucked my first out-of-place eyebrow hair.

I filed away the last of the blood count reports floating around our office.

I threw out the leftover steroids.

I took down the calendar which held the lists of doctor appointments and documented how I felt each day.

I twisted my hair around my finger. Well, half-way around.

I crumpled up the hand-written notes from my mom with directions of when and how much of which medicines to take each day.

I'm transitioning from cancer patient to cancer survivor. In fact, this past couple of weeks, I've really forced myself to forget about the "C" word altogether. I think I've really been squelching it all, excited to be feeling better and getting back into my old routines. However, no matter what, I know that this experience will forever be a part of me and I don't want to forget it. I think I just wanted to tuck it away in my back pocket for a little while. Now, I'm ready to reexamine it all and see how I can use it to better my life and the lives of others. I'm going back to figuring out that still unanswered question of why the hell this happened to me ... .

I'm waiting for the big flood of emotions or whatever is supposed to happen when I actually realize everything that I, and those around me, went through. Right now it just seems like it was a little bump in the road, a chapter that is now closed. It's hard to even recreate what my mind and body felt like. I remember people telling me that would happen back when I was first diagnosed. Telling me that one day this cancer experience will be just a little blip in my life and that I'll have so many bigger and better adventures that will overshadow it. I found that hard to believe at the time, just as it was hard to believe that I'd ever reach the 12th treatment. But now that I'm here, I realize that the world keeps moving and that there's a whole lot of life still ahead of me.

Even though I don't think about it constantly as I used to, I am still frequently reminded. Of course, there's the givens. The lady lump is still in my chest. It seems that the skin discolorations on my body are permanent, and oh ya, I still don't have enough hair to cover my head. But there's also the unexpected reminders.

Last night we were out at a tavern enjoying some beers and a live band with friends. I go to the bathroom and this 60ish-year-old woman with long, peroxide bleached blond hair, teased bangs and L.E.I bellbottom jeans starts to explain to me why she has a heart painted on her face (her grandson), keeps talking to me while I'm in the stall, and after I'm done washing my hands and she's done drawing on her Barbie pink lip liner, reaches her hand out to shake mine and introduces herself.

"I'm Karin," I replied, wiping my hands on my jeans and shaking her hand.

Her eyes widened.

"That's my sister's name ... ," she said.

I nod and mumble back something about 'what a coincidence' and make my way to the bathroom door.

"She just died of cancer," she said and I spun back around.

I hesitated at first, not knowing what to say, then blurted out: "I just beat cancer. I just finished six months of chemotherapy." As soon as the words came out of my mouth I wanted to take them back. I couldn't believe how mortifyingly insensitive I was, but her reaction completely surprised me.

She grabbed me in her arms and pulled me in for a tight hug. I was immediately engulfed in the scents of Aquanet hairspray and gag inducing flowery perfume.

"What? Oh my God. God bless you, child," she choked, going on and on and on. "That's amazing! Oh, that's amazing!" She kept kissing me on the cheek - several times. I'm just awkwardly smiling back thinking, I am in a bathroom, with other people doing their business in the stalls listening to this. I thought I was just going to take a leak and I end up sending this woman over the emotional edge.

"I'm sorry about your sister," I said back.

She just replied with more sighs of happiness and more awkward touching. She squeezed my hand and we reentered the bar. I plopped back down at our table and immediately recounted my bathroom experience. Then I watched as this dolled-up Grandma headed to the dance floor to slink around to the beat and rub up against her much younger looking boy toy and I smiled.

It's like I'm now forever part of this secret society. For those who have been through it or watched someone very close to them go through it, you have this instant rapport and understanding. That's something that I feel very lucky for - to have the capacity to form these instant human connections. So quickly comfortable that several smooches in the ladies room at a divey bar are perfectly appropriate.

Mana Orbs

Mana orbs....created from Nature's elements....embellished with glass shards, abalone pieces, shell points, pearls, rhinestones, jewels....Blessed and embedded with ancient Reiki symbols and sent out into the world.

A White Vampire Being.....

I Can Breathe Again

My CT-Scan showed no evidence of any tissues masses, enflamed lymph nodes, or anything that may indicate that cancer remains (or is emerging.) Needless to say, fantastic news. This scan is much more conclusive - they took 64-slice imaging of my chest to get a very, very detailed look at anything that might be going on there there's nothing but the normal chest innards.

Now I can stop planning what I thought would be another six months (at least) of hell - or my own funeral arrangements - and get back to planning my future. Most immediately that means Thanksgiving - that holiday now has a whole new meaning beyond the chance to gorge on butternut squash. Then my favorite time of year - Christmas. And I can now confidently say that I'll never have to have a Christmas with cancer! I'll have a Christmas with a port in my chest and a very strange hairdo ... but no cancer! After the New Year I'll have another PET-CT Scan and as long as the results are again clear, I can finally schedule the port removal.

After that? Running a half-marathon, enrolling in grad school, mastering the tripod headstand, writing a novel, volunteering to help others going through this, mentoring, tackling a triathalon, traveling the globe, starring in community theater productions, learning the guitar, taking an African safari, promoting world peace ... you know, the little stuff. At least I can get back to dreaming about it all now without cancer clouding the way.

The Waiting Game

I don't want to play it anymore. Let's put away the cards, fold up the game board, drop the player tokens into their mini plastic bag. I am not good at this game and I want to quit.

It's funny how when you're trying not to think about something, the only thing you can think about is trying not to think about it – and that really leads to thinking about it now doesn't it? It's only been four days since I found out about the area of question in my PET-Scan but it feels like forever.

Of course my mind is a bit out of control. I'm hoping with everything I have that this is just inflammation from my longstanding cough but I also have that awful feeling in my gut that it's not. I keep trying to squelch those feelings but they keep creeping up. For some reason the idea of having to go through a stem cell transplant was something that I always thought that I'd have to do - I have no idea why and I hope that I am dead wrong.

There is not a damn thing I can do to speed up this process. I had a CT-Scan today which might give some insight as early as late-day tomorrow. I got yet another IV. The dye inserted for this test warms through your entire body, makes you feel like you just peed your pants and gives a distinct metal taste in your mouth - quite enjoyable. I laid there, again with my arms over my head, and listened to the robotic man's voice tell me when to hold my breath and when to let it go. Now I wait some more to see what this 64-slice scan shows going on in my mediastinum.

Maybe the spot won't show up at all. I just have to resist calling my oncologist every hour to check if the results came in. I think calling at 4pm is fair – that's 24 hours – I should at least just check ...

A Faery Tale Moment....

We went over to the Turtle Bay Resort last night to watch the sunset.

As the night grew darker we walked along the lawns towards the glass walled "wedding pavilion"....and there....held within the white and glass room overlooking the sea....

we witnessed a faerie tale moment.

A young bride adorned with a princess crown.... seated alone with her prince...

celebrating their moment of commitment. Enchanting to behold!

In Flux: Cancer or No Cancer?

Getting a phone call from your oncologist on your office phone in the middle of the day is a little unsettling. Getting the call the day before you have a scheduled appointment with him to go over your PET-CT Scan results is a bit more worrisome. When you pick up and he tells you he'd like to meet with you to go over things ... and that you might want to bring along your husband or mom, that's really not a good sign.

I was expecting to receive the results of my first post-treatment PET-CT Scan on Friday, the 13th - "boldly" (in the words of my oncologist) scheduled on this superstitiously day of oddities. However, I got the news a day early after Dr. Dailey found some concerning results.

He called me at work. For a fleeting moment I thought (hoped) that maybe he wanted to alert me to something happening at the cancer center that I should include in the hospital newsletter. That faded quickly when he told me that he got my scan results back and had shared them with several colleagues in the cancer center, an expert pathologist, a noted thoracic surgeon at the hospital, etc. I know that you don't go around displaying perfectly clear scans across the hospital.

The long and short of it is that there is what is called a "hot spot" that appeared on my scan. It shows up in my anterior mediastinal tract (between my lungs) more toward my heart. "Hot spots" are how oncologists find if and where cancer is lurking in your body. I was "hot spotting" all over the place in my initial scan ... "like a Christmas tree" I believe the wording was. The good news is that this particular "hot spot" is only a centimeter large and it is the ONLY area of activity on the entire scan. The even better news is that the probability of showing a false positive on these types of scans is very high. The PET scan shows anywhere that there is high metabolic activity - something that cancer cells display, but also something that other tissue inflammation or swollen lymph nodes (without cancer activity) can display.

The area is too small to be able to perform a successful needle biopsy to pull out the tissue to test it in a minimally invasive way. The only way to know definitively if it is in fact rogue Hodgkin's cells that were able to withstand the 12 ABVD treatments would be to undergo a surgical biopsy. Because of the small size of the area in question and its close proximity to my heart and major vessels and the need to go through my chest cavity, the surgery carries quite a risk. My oncologist and the several other physicians across a wide variety of practices that he consulted agreed that surgery should be avoided until we have a clearer picture of the likelihood of this actually being the start of a Hodgkin's recurrence.

Naturally, this was not the news that I wanted to hear. Luckily, Craig was there with me. We met at the Avon office - there was no one else there but us and my doc - it was so intimate that he wasn't even wearing his typical white lab coat. It felt like meeting with an old friend who unfortunately was delivering what could be some very bad news. It was eerily dark and quiet except for the bright fluorescent lights of the room that we were in. It was late afternoon and Dr. Dailey took the time to meet with us, explain everything in detail, and answer, mostly Craig's, many questions as I just kind of sat there in shock. It took me back to my first day of chemo when everyone around me just sounded like the parents on the phone in Charlie Brown - "wah, wah wahhhh."

We are all hopeful that it is nothing. I am still fighting this upper respiratory cold/cough that makes me sound like someone on the other end of a 1-900 number. We're hoping that that might have something to do with the hot spot. That the infection could be causing the inflammation in my chest, causing it to light up with the diodes. However, I am so lucky that I have a doctor that takes things seriously and is looking at this scan thoughtfully and carefully. As much as he apologized for not being able to give the "all clear" and schedule a date for me to get this damn port removed that he knows I am anxious about, he told me that he just couldn't comfortably say: "Ah, it's nothing. We'll see you in a year."

So, the plan of attack is get me healthy - get this bug out of my system. I'm now on a new antibiotic, a 10-day course and am continuing with the prescription cough medicine. I'm trying to get lots of rest, maintain my healthy diet and keep up with the yoga and walking as much as I can. The hope is that by doing this, on the next scan, this little hot spot won't rear its ugly little head.

Monday I go in to get my port injected with a type of solution that will hopefully break up any kind of fibrous tissue that might be causing a blockage that is not allowing for my blood return as God forbid, I may be needing to use this thing a lot again. Then Tuesday I have a detailed CAT Scan which is going to take fine slice pictures of the area in question to try to get some better clues as to what it may be. Then, in 6-8 weeks I enter the narrow tunnel for another PET-CT Scan. If this reveals that the spot is still there (or even worse, has grown), then it's time to slice me open to get in there and biopsy a good chunk of the tissue. If it is cancerous, the next step is a high-dose chemotherapy regimen called "ICE" then onto an analogous stem cell transplant with a chemo cocktail of "BEAM" ... the science of all of that blew my mind and as Dr. Dailey assured us, to even think about it as this point is jumping the gun. Here's hoping for a false positive.

So now, my fate is awaiting the identity reveal of this one-centimeter hot spot. And, I won't know if I'm cancer-free anymore for another several weeks. What can I do but do everything to keep my mind off it, keep my body strong, and stay focused on the fact that it's got to be a fluke?

Back in the studio.....

Today was a perfect day....I was able to get back into the studio and create.

I had found a coconut shell on the beach...not the outside husk...but the inside shell. It was a neat shape so I took it up to the studio and put it in the microwave for a minute to make sure there weren't any critters living in it.

Then I got out my embellishments.

Tempered glass on the inside with abalone shells and then abalone shells around the rim. I added some metallic powders and apoxie sculpt and

Val-La! So much fun!

Tomorrow I will grout and then let it sit for a couple of days before I seal it.

The other photos show a piece I did from a palm frond. I love the look of the tempered glass. It's so deep and mysterious. Particularly against Nature's simple beauty. The contrast is very cool. The white "thing" on the end of the palm frond is a skull of a fish...or something ....that I found on the beach. Very wonderful pattern and shape. Isn't Nature inspiring!

I think I have to find a gallery or sell in Etsy cause I can't stop creating and what am I going to do with all of these pieces!