Hooking Helps

Ok, it’s not what you think. It’s crochet. 

I started ‘hooking’ when my kids were in high school. Why? Any parent with kids understands the pattern: drop off and pick up. Doesn’t matter if it’s voice lessons, soccer practice, choir rehearsal, marching band practice or drama camp. I spent a lot of my time on the road but even more time in the parking lot or school hallways waiting. And waiting. And waiting. 

Don’t get me wrong, I was glad to do it. I’m happy my kids had a chance to do so many creative things that I never got to do. I loved that their talents were seen and shared. And even better, those talents have turned into real life work. But while they learned and practiced and rehearsed, I needed something to do, too. Something that was creative, fun and easy to take with me. 

Yarn to the rescue. 

So I taught myself to crochet. I liked that it was simple: a hook and some yarn. I liked that I could take it anywhere. I liked that it was fun and creative. While it takes some concentration, I found I could crochet and listen to choir or band practice all at the same time. And I got a scarf or hat out of it - bonus!

I’ve taken classes in many art media over my life: life drawing, watercolors, acrylics, oils, pastels and sculpture in clay and window screening. I’d failed at sewing. So I didn’t have high expectations for myself. It was something to do to pass the time. Or so I thought. But I actually got into a book on Freeform Crochet a decade or so ago. And I’ve had requests for my patterns. But I never took it seriously. 

Hooking my way to sanity. 

Now, I realize that my silly hobby that embarrassed my kids is an artform to many and I respect the artists who have made crochet their medium of choice. I respect and honor their creativity. I like to make up my own projects: hats, scarves, blankets, pillow covers. Lately, I’ve been making Christmas stockings for a local women and children’s center.

For me, especially these last few years, crochet is crucial to my well being. I’ve had many life changes to deal with that I can’t control: layoffs, retirement, illness and surgery. And now, add the terrible, awful, truly bad orange clown. 

I looked it up online and here’s what I found: “there are studies that prove that knitting and crochet can positively impact brain health by enhancing cognitive function, reducing stress and promoting a sense of accomplishment. The repetitive motions and focus can improve memory, attention and even potentially slow cognitive decline. And the mindful meditative state induced by these activities can help reduce stress and anxiety.”

So I have my therapy: just get some yarn and get hooking. You might want to try it. 

Inching my way towards joy

 

Joy feels like a big word to me. I’m not sure, with everything that’s going on, what it means for me right now. So, I looked it up to see if a definition would help.

Joy defined by Merriam Webster:  to experience great pleasure or delight. The emotion evoked by well-being, success or good fortune. Or by the prospect of possessing what one desires. 

Hmm. Well, I can see some people in Washington might be feeling this right now. Taking our tax dollars to make themselves richer. Cutting critical programs that help people in need to cut their taxes and add to their greed. 

It’s not joy to me. It’s despicable. 

Help. 

After having major surgery, I spent months recovering. Doing little things became big things to do. I couldn’t throw clay on the wheel anymore. But I had to find something creative to do. Something to lift me out of the pain. Something to heal my spirit. 

I used to paint before I started working in clay. So, I went back to it. Paper and brushes and color was easier on my body and soothed my fears. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to spread water and paint on paper. It was just the therapy I needed. 

Discovery. 

I liked throwing on the wheel. And I spent many years focusing on function and technique to create pieces that would sell. It felt good to develop new skills. Making a good mug or teacup or bowl was a big accomplishment for me. Especially since I’d failed at it in high school. 

But I forgot something along the way. 

What I discovered using pens and brushes and paint and paper, again, was play. I’d forgotten that quality is essential to creating. It’s not just about making everything perfect, it’s about the making itself. 

Is this joy?

Still I have a problem with the word: joy. It brings back too many memories of church ceremonies, which were not joyful to me. And if I free it from those confines, it still feels too big, too much, too hard. 

But what if I just let myself go back to that little girl in the woods playing with sticks and mud? She didn’t know what the word joy meant, she just had fun. What would happen if I let her lead me back to joy?  

Inch by inch

A little watercolor one day

A little clay another day

Some color brushed on clay

It’s ok, it’s just play. 

But maybe, it’s new way to joy. 

Looking for Life

It’s a bright, sunny day here in Oregon which is something to celebrate. Our weather is typically cloudy and cool with maybe some rain. Climate change has changed it up in the last few years but I’m still a true Oregonian. When it rains, I smile. 

Sigh. I’d like to be smiling right now. How about you? It seems all around us there are dark clouds gathering. Anger rising. Threats to our lives and security. A crazy maniac in the big White House who is followed by crooks interested in stealing money and selling secrets. 

It’s overwhelming at times. And I don’t know about you, but I refuse to get mired in the muck. 

Pulling myself up and out. 

One way I’ve managed to save my creative soul and spirit is to get out into nature. Walking isn’t just about exercise, it’s about moving my body, mind and soul into the real world of nature. Trees and birds and squirrels who live in peaceful contentment rooted in the earth around them. Thankfully, I have a beautiful park in my neighborhood to walk around everyday. 

Hearing the kids play on the swings. 

Seeing the Heron floating in the water. 

Looking down at an oak leaf and thinking of how I could form it in clay. 

Breathe in life. Real life. 

Step by step around the lake I go, watching and hearing and hoping. I smile at the people walking by me. Heal in my dog to let them pass. And hope, no matter what new craziness happens in our country today, that they are ok. That we are all safe. That all of our days get better. That this craziness will end peacefully and safely. 

Let’s all take a deep breath together. 

Breathe in beauty.

Breathe in love.

Breathe in life. 

We will get through this.

By looking for life and beauty all around us. 

 

Let’s pull the weeds and flower.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. I usually write almost everyday in my journal or notes. But lately, all I’ve been doing is sitting and scrolling and staring at the unbelievable insanity out there. 

When it got to be too much, I started cleaning. I’ve dusted and vacuumed and washed from top to bottom. Window blinds, ceiling fans, inside cupboards and closets, chairs and couches. I washed throws and blankets and pillows and curtains. Then I looked outside and started pulling weeds. Tall weeds. Small weeds. Itsy bitsy weeds that I would normally ignore because I hate weeding. Out with it all. 

The dirt and weeds had to go. So the flowers could grow. 

Hmm. Perhaps there’s a metaphor here? 

With all those evil, stupid bullies in Washington, it feels like time has slipped backwards. I thought as a woman who fought for my rights once, I was done. 

Nope. Obviously, there’s more to do. 

What are we learning here? That bullies win? That greed wins? That stupid wins?

I know it looks like that but I think there’s more to it. Perhaps, we’re using the wrong tools. We’re using the understanding, logical, problem solving, let’s get along tools. When we need to use the heavy duty, no you don’t tools to clean it all out. 

Anyone else doing what these bullies have done, would be arrested and in jail by now. Where are our judges? Our Congress? Our Senate? Our Generals? 

I wonder. 

Where is the nation that I know and love? The people who help people? The elected ones who promoted education, health, safety and jobs for all? Equality for everyone. No one left behind. Everyone allowed to flower and grow. 

I don’t understand the anger of the right, thinking they’re right. Or the Greed Gang who want it all for themselves. Because when no one is left out, even them, everyone moves forward together. Maybe I’m naive but it seems to me to be a pretty simple way to go. You go your way, I’ll go mine. Choice is still there for everyone.

That’s the word: choice. 

What do you need?

What do you want?

If you don’t like something, fine. That’s your choice. 

But you don’t get the right to choose for me.  

Let’s all make our own choices, 

And learn to pull the weeds, so we can flower and grow together. 

 

Lessons Learned

 I’ve done a lot of different kinds of art over the years. Painting in watercolor, acrylics, oil and pastel. Fiber art including beaded embroidery, quilting and crochet. Clay sculpture. Copper repousse. Mixed media boxes that included clay, copper repousse and a story I wrote. 

In the last 10 years, I’ve been making functional clay cups, bowls, plates and vases. But sculpture snuck in, too. 

I’m either very versatile or I have a very short attention span. I’m not sure. One thing I do know: I like to try new things. Oh, I may argue with myself or someone else about that because learning does take time and can be very frustrating. Somehow, I do it anyway. 

Maybe the truth is simple: I like to learn. 

I failed at clay in high school so when someone tried to give me a wheel, I said no. They insisted and loaded up a truck with a wheel and a kiln. It was such an amazing gift, I could not turn down  that kind of generosity. Even as it scared me. But, maybe, it was a sign?

At the time, my husband was between jobs and we had college age children at home. My focus was on survival and making money. At the time, I was teaching after school art classes across town. I was never sure how many would sign up but that fall, exactly enough children signed up to pay for one term of clay classes at my local recreation center. So I took the fall class. My husband got a new job and I was able to continue taking the clay classes in handbuilding and throwing. Yes, I finally learned to throw. 

But the biggest lesson I learned, was that I was left handed. As a child, I’d been told to say I was ambidextrous but now I know that was old school speak for left handed. The truth is, I can use both hands but not for all things. Somethings my right hand likes and somethings my left hand likes. I’m still learning their preferences. 

See there’s always more to learn.

The question for me right now? What to learn next? Right now, I’m learning to crochet Christmas Stockings from a pattern. I’ve been doing crochet for years, but I never used patterns much, I usually make up my own. But these are not just for me but for a local women and children center, so I want them to be right. Right? 

I’m also trying to learn how to combine sculptural clay elements on a base with a watercolor technique using underglazes. Will it work? I don’t know. Will I be able to show or sell them? I don’t know. 

But not knowing is what learning is all about. And maybe that’s the most important lesson of all.