"Scar Tissue" (and the ripples along the way)

Pack it up, pack it in, let me begin..(it's been in my head, now it can be in yours! )

When I was ultra running a lot, I would take my short runs along the "river" path in Tucson. I say "river" because geographically it's categorized as one, but given that it's dry 95% of the year here, it's a bit of a running joke (pun intended) to call it that.

Anyways, on these runs I would routinely scan the paved path for tiny critters or, in hotter months, the danger noodles (rattlers). Often it was an ant managing a big leaf or a blue belly lizard scouting terrain, doing 'push ups' with impressive ease. I'd always hold an invisible "animal crossing" sign and help avert potential disaster.

Several Wednesdays ago, I went for an early run before more front patio landscaping and noticed a king snake that had met their end at the wheels of a car, lying in a somewhat poetic S-shape in the middle of the road. I turned back, armed with two long sticks and relocated them from the road to some roadside brush. It may seem a small thing but I always think moving someone from a street is important. A man on an Oprah-paced walk whizzed by, offering a subtle nod of approval as I finished.

I thought about Kevin, and the zodiac serendipities. Remembering the Roadkill Cafe t-shirt my dad used to wear in the 90's. I wish I could talk to him about all of this.

Fast forward to early April and Kevin (assumption set since no other snake has been seen here before) reappeared in the carport and again, I was able to take sub par photos while serving as a human barrier for my mother who is deathly afraid of all serpentine friends - exposure therapy at its finest. It was nice to see Kevin again, a good size larger and happily curled up in the aloe plants. Shedding and growing, the theme of 2026.

In the midst of introducing the The ARK, I went on assignment to Texas to visit and document Safe in Austin, a place pairing rescued special needs animals with kids and teens navigating trauma (often the very worst kinds), bullying, neurodivergence and other special needs. It blew my mind. It's the kind of place you didn't know could exist and where small things don't stay small.

They ripple.

Small stuff matters.
A little goes a lot further than you think.
A quiet comment can be the boost you never knew someone needed.
A quiet shared moment, too.

Like my neighbor wishing me well before Nepal, unexpectedly adding "you're always strong, Molly."
Sitting with a dog who never got a fair shake in life as he wanders inside a kennel alone, wandering in his mind as he fights pre-euthanasia sedation.
Inquiring more deeply, when the text "...had a long, tough day" comes through.

Little, big things.

Late March brought another notch in the life belt as the 25th rolled around. My birthday has long retained a slight layer of complexity since my dad's accident a few days after my 16th, but this year felt like a slight lifting of it all. I caught an early evening showing of Project Hail Mary with two pals from university work over the years, not knowing much about the story despite being an Andy Weir fan. There was unusual relief that I hadn't yet read the book, so the cinematic disappointment of 2015's The Martian could not be repeated. I read somewhere that Ryan Gosling is a "comedy writer stuck in a movie star's body" and I'd agree. One of my favorite memories working in production was standing on a curb in a front of a motel set in Jersey City talking shop about our tattoos as he waited to be called to scene. "I got the Giving Tree in memory of my mom and sister," he said, pointing to his shoulder. He was a cool, down to earth dude.

Ironically, his character remained the same (while in space) in this movie.
Amaze, amaze, amaze.

Seeing the film actually made the transition to the following month a little easier. April is always a little shaky with anniversary loss aplenty, but it ended with a trip to visit and work with my pal Danielle, co-founder of LEAP and executive director of BlackBerry Creek Farm Animal Sanctuary. The property felt like a fairytale and I got to spend time with animals in a way I rarely do.

The bonus of the trip was the chance to follow up with two dogs from The ARK project. Turns out, geography and the higher powers that be were working together as Alba (now Jessie) and Tofu (now Tony) were just an hour plus drive away in Vacaville. I'd kept in touch with Thao and Vince from Lucky Ones Ranch after meeting them briefly when they picked up Alba (now Jessie) at the end of March in Tucson. We all appreciated the fortuitous odds that allowed for a visit to see them that Saturday morning. An intended quick visit turned into three hours and it was...extraordinary. The change in these two dogs is miraculous.

Jessie had her first zoomies. Tony had his first foray into group breakfast time.
Their tails wagged.
They were at ease.
I stopped on the roadside back to Colfax, happy tears bouncing off my rain jacket.

In the midst of witnessing the recidivism in real time (i.e. returning for a third time to the property from which they came last week), this felt like a gift. And a nod to keep on, keepin' on.

As Sunday afternoon rolled around, we went to visit the two remaining cows in Danielle's herd, Duncan and Maple, who spend their days at Animal Place where they have access to acres upon acres of land and grass. "By the way, there are two calves here, they came in August so we can see them too," she said.

I felt unusually giddy as we walked to the gate, scanning the field to see a variety of cows, all with different stories, peacefully munching on grass. The two youngsters, Zinnia and Dahlia, were ready and waiting with curious looks.

Dahlia sniffed my head as I crouched by her, nuzzling into her side while taking a still too brief second to comprehend that I was with a free calf who would never know the reality that so many others face. I hugged her for awhile. It's been really hard the last few years to know where to put the feelings I have after watching so much violence and apathy in my documentary work. The world can feel sharp and isolating, with few outlets to share and an increasing awareness of how easy it is to harden.

Sometimes I'll be standing and I feel a faint but sharp tinge in my ankle where the fracture has since healed and left a small scar. "Oh, that's just scar tissue saying hi!" according to a close pal.

I think about all the tinges that I feel lately, perhaps the scar tissue built up over 42 years, the most of it in the last 26. I suppose I do this work because I am built for it, expensive psychological tax notwithstanding. Hugging Dahlia, watching Jessie fly through the soft grass, watching animals allowed to grow old at Blackberry Creek, these moments soften the edges again.

It's the choice to remain reachable by awe while life leaves marks.

Amaze, amaze, amaze.

A select few paintings are now in the print shop as limited edition prints. It’s been good to have this outlet, though I’d be lying if I said I haven’t second guessed myself a billion times putting it out into the world. Bringing Bruce the bear and others to life has been equal parts grounding, absurd and surprisingly vulnerable.

The irony is that none of this reveals itself unless the quiet is quiet enough.

Creative solitude is a strange thing.

It’s waking up at 5:45AM, sipping a MudWtr as the world slowly comes online and sitting with the mental gremlins in all their various forms of fuckery. Rinse and repeat.

Somewhere along the way, the paintings started becoming their own language. Some are inside jokes. Others are tiny philosophies disguised as bears. It's one mighty outlet, where insights and wise irreverence meet.

Maybe outlets are good therapy. Maybe tinges are where magic forms. Maybe that’s why Harrison Ford’s line in this season of Shrinking stopped me in my tracks: “What a shame to be 42 years of age and not be completely covered in scars.”

And the small stuff - the ripples - is what keeps the scar tissue from expanding, from hardening.

It reminds me of another Michael (bonus dad) gem from I keep close, on a post-it note near my computer: "Most successful people are just crapping their pants, the entire time. But they're willing to deal with it."

Gonna keep that in mind as I head off to ride dirt bikes with some badass women in Texas this weekend. Until next post, onward into the dust!

This site and writing are free for the world. If you'd like to support my work, you can subscribe (free or paid), share or comment and/or explore fine art prints and watercolor paintings from the shop. Your support helps sustain the documentary project and creates more time to write, paint and share. Thank you for being here. ♥️