Thank you 2025 Word of the Year: Thrive

 

I’ve had a hell of a few years from 2022 to 2025. Here’s a recap:

2022 - 4th of July flood in my house, damage took a year to repair. 

2023 - My husband got laid off. We lost income and health insurance. It took 6 months for me to get Social Security and Medicare. 

2024 - The year of Misdiagnosed Illness that ended in major surgery to repair. 

2025 - Recovery from surgery both physical and emotional. Didn’t know about PTSD

But I’m here. I survived. And that’s why I picked Thrive as last years word of the year. 

Because I wanted and needed and hoped, now I’d be able to Thrive, not just survive.   

And I did. 

It wasn’t easy or fun. There was still pain and physical limits. And after I worked my way through all that, I got hit upside the head with trauma. Now, I’d had surgery before: 2 C sections, 1 broken wrist, 1 skin cancer removal. But none of them hit me like this surgery did. Every little twinge sent me into the fear zone. 

And I understand it now, thanks to support from others who’ve been through it. And books about it. And, most importantly, thank you, my  Substack friends who have been down this rough road ahead of me and were here to shine a light for me to see by.  

Art as therapy. Throwing is out. 

After the surgery, I couldn’t do my art the same way anymore. I used to love throwing clay on the wheel. But it uses my abdominals and it was very uncomfortable. I had to let it go and move on. Honestly, now I know, it was time anyway.

I was gifted a wheel and kiln from a wonderfully supportive couple decades ago. They loved my copper work, saw my clay work and gave me a huge gift. I was a failure at throwing in high school. (Cue embarrassing clay incident: clay sailing off wheel and hitting the wall behind me. WTF) Yeah. I went back to ‘school’ and learned to throw. I even sold it at shows and galleries. 

But I’m not a production potter. What I truly love is sculpture and faces and masks. And over the months, my surgery recovery led me back to where I’d began. I didn’t realize it at first. I was just ‘goofing’ around and trying to do whatever my body would allow. 

Relief.

It all started with doodling. When I was still unable to do much, I was gifted with a set of sparkle gel pens and a drawing pad. Some days, all I could do was doodle. Maybe swish some watercolor paints around. And crochet. 

But I worked my way back to my studio. I had a little clay left, so I rolled it out and played around. Here’s what found me: drawings and watercolors coming to life in clay. What a weird idea, right? 

I made one, then another and another. 

Then a face appeared. It sat on the shelf, alone. Until one day, I looked up at the sunflowers in my kitchen and got an idea. 

Soon, in addition to the sunflower, a poppy, gingko and oak leave reliefs appeared. 

I’m not sure how or where I’m going to be able to show them. But I’m hoping  somewhere, somehow, someone will help make it happen. 

That these new pieces, along with me, will thrive. 

Celebrating Health

 

For the last two years, I’ve spent my holidays recovering from procedures and surgeries. It’s not been fun or easy. But I’m here. Sitting in my chair writing and looking at the twinkling white lights on my holiday tree. 

I’m alive. Even though some young doctor told me, “You remind me of my mother, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Yeah. Right. Major surgery was required but it took almost a year to get there. 

But I’m here. Now. And today, I’m snacking on homemade shortbread, cherry cake and  chocolate candies. 

Letting the light in. 

Remembering staying up into the wee hours sewing Winnie the Pooh characters into felt tree decorations for my little children. (They officially came from Santa.)

Packing up race cars, paints, books and a very tiny ‘Hungry Caterpillar’ to put under the tree for my children’s little children.

Sighing with relief. All is well. (Maybe not in our country right now). 

But right here. Right now. In my small space on this big planet. 

All is quiet. All is bright. 

And I am well.  

My Christmas wish: For everyone, everywhere to have enough food, warmth and love. 

And Health.

Now that’s really something to celebrate. 

I’m alive. 

And I’m thankful. 

‘

Now that’s really something to celebrate. 

Lean in.

  

I got a strong message the other day from my ‘tree’. With all the swirling politics and anger and fear around me, I knew I needed some wisdom. So I walked into the woods, planted my feet on the ground around the roots of one of my favorite Cedar trees. 

And I listened.

As I felt the familiar warmth radiate through my legs, up my back and into my shoulders, I waited quietly for the message. It doesn’t happen quickly. It waits for me to settle into the ground, quiet my mind and honor its presence. 

So I leaned in. 

As my feet absorbed the energy from the roots, my back and neck relaxed and my mind opened, I could sense the message was coming. And as usual, it was simple and powerful. 

And I heard. 

“Lean into the Good.”

Yes. Simple and clear and difficult all at the same time. Especially now. With all the turbulence and threats and fear around us, it’s hard to see anything good. But that’s the point, isn’t it? They want us to be mired in it all, spinning and swirling in fear. They feed off of it. I know, I can’t let that feed my thoughts.

I leaned in more. Head. Shoulders. Back. Legs. Feet. 

And I felt the change. The warmth. The light. The breath of light air. 

I inhaled it all deeply. 

The Strength. 

The Calm. 

The Good. 

It is the energy of the planet. 

It is the wisdom of the trees. 

Lean in. 

Feel the good. 

It’s there for me. 

For you. 

For all of us. 

Lean into the good. 

I’m Giving Thanks, Anyway.

 

Normally, I would be writing a piece about thankfulness and gratitude right now. But this year, we all know, there’s a lot of bad stuff happening around us. And I can’t be grateful or thankful for any of it. 

Yet, my deep in my heart, I do feel grateful. Thankful. And hopeful. Go ahead and turn the page or call me crazy, but here it is anyway. 

I am grateful and thankful for:

 

No pain this Thanksgiving. 

Being able to bake sourdough rolls for Tday. 

Making cranberry sauce. 

Walking through my local park with energy to spare. 

Lifting weights again. (Ok they’re only 2lbs, but it’s a start)

Healthy husband, kids, grandkids and doggy. 

Creating in clay, paint, and yarn. (Although not at the same time, but it’s a thought?)

The couple who gave me their kiln and wheel so I could throw and fire clay. 

People who support my creativity with sales and encouraging comments. 

Meeting and sharing the creative journey with other artists and writers. 

Writing here on Blogger and Substack. 

There, I said it. Or rather wrote it anyway.  

Sometimes I just have to do the weird thing. 

Somebody has to, right?

Here’s hoping this day brings you some thankful and grateful things. 

I’d love to hear yours in the comments. 

What’s Next?

 

Finishing things in the studio and around the house feels good, yet my mind races ahead to what’s next. The ongoing quest or question drives creation and maybe, drives me a little crazy? 

I wanted, and maybe needed, to do a relief sculpture of oak leaves. The face, like the others I’ve made, is a mystical goddess. With her eyes opening outward, a tribal like eyebrow and smiling lips, she feels to me like wisdom and love. 

So far I’ve made her the center of a sunflower, poppies, ginkgo leaves and now oak leaves. Am I celebrating the seasons as I would imagine she does? I don’t know. And that’s ok. 

That’s how art works for me, if I let myself listen without listening.  Be moved instead of moving. See without using my eyes, instead using my hands and heart. Act from my gut, my core, my intuition. 

The magic of making. 

I love to make things, so I’m always making things. That’s the good part. The ideas. The excitement of the beginning. The intense focus and joy of rolling and cutting and putting pieces in place one by one. I am always oblivious to the mess in the moment and while I delight in the idea, the process always takes much more time than I envision. 

That’s ok. Step by step the pieces come together. My only race is with my hands, the weather and time. Clay is a medium which needs cooler weather and humidity all within a certain window of time. Once it starts to dry out, the working window closes. Sometimes completely. Yes, there are ways to keep it moist and pick up where I left off but sometimes, life gets in the way.

Symbols of power. 

As a nation, we are fighting for our rights, our safety and our lives. So art seems a frivolous action. And yet, somewhere inside me feels it is a lifeline, our lifeline. Grounding to the earth, to the soul, to each other. It makes a connection that can’t be bought or paid or taken away. 

It is our common ground. It is a language beyond words. It is our souls reaching out for each other. Whispering in the night: “We are still here. We are all right. We are together.”

Oak trees and their leaves are symbols of strength, endurance, stability and longevity. Because they are big, powerful trees with a long life span, they also represent fertility and wisdom. Along with their acorns, they represent power, authority and victory. 

Perhaps I needed some Oak tree power this week, maybe you do too.