Rise Above It All

What can you do or I do to lift up ourselves right now?

Rise above it all?

Stay strong and healthy and true?

Health and surgery and recovery are not easy. And they take time. The biggest recovery, I’m discovering is trauma/emotional recovery. I didn’t sign up for any of this, none of us do. It happens. It’s shocking to the core. At first, it takes all you’ve got to get up and deal with the pain.

But, I got up. Walked. Climbed the stairs. My body got stronger. Now, I can do yoga. Lift weights. Carry my 2 year old grandchild. I went back to ‘normal’ life. Or so I thought. But somewhere, in there, is a small scared voice. Will it happen again? Am I really fixed?

The answer: Yes, I am fixed. My body is ‘very healthy’ now according to my PCP. 

Another question: Why then, am I feeling anxious and sad?

Another answer: Because, I’m told, after physical healing comes emotional healing. 

It’s a process. Like life, it’s not always easy. What helps?

One word, one line, one thought at a time.

Art and writing have gotten me through many difficult times: surgery, family abuse and deaths, pandemic fears, job losses and now crazy politics. I journal often because getting my thoughts out on the page helps me release the bad and see the good in my life. 

You don’t have to be a professional writer, like I was at one time, you just have to be honest. Take a pen, some paper and let it all go. Sometimes I use a picture or word to get started. Or you can look out the window, see what catches your eye. Better yet, light a candle, get quiet and listen. Then write it down. No one has to see it or read it but you. You don’t have to keep it either.  

Time for me to show and tell.  

This weekend, I’ll be showing my Lily Vases at “Ceramics Showcase” in the Gallery. Making my Lily vases lifts me up. The feel of the cool clay. Rolling out shapes. Pressing fabric, old earrings, hardware bits into the clay takes focus.

I don’t know why I like making my Lily Vases so much. And I don’t have to know. All I have to do is feel the cool clay and let it help me rise above it all.  

A world where different textures meet

A place where all colors work together 

And individual pieces join

And rise and form a beautiful whole. 

Creating Strength and Clarity

 

The bad TV show continues to spew out episodes daily in our country. It’s hard to watch the episodes spin out angry threats and misinformation. I watch and listen and  support the courts and truthful reporting. I have to say upfront, my husband has been a broadcast news reporter for decades and I trust his information.

Trusted sources give me more than information, they give me strength and clarity. I make it a goal to stay out of the chaotic news feeding frenzy. If you want that too, I recommend reading, Turner’s Take here on Substack. https://miketurner921.substack.com/p/hands-off?r=2j4566

Clay and crochet and clarity. 

As an artist, my work gives me a lot of time alone. As I roll and knead and push and pull the clay, my head clears. I let the clay lead me where it wants to go. This week, each piece formed into a bird. One small. One larger. 

I didn’t draw it or design it or force it. The clay moved with my hands and fingers into the shape of a small little bird and a crow. They’re  not finished yet and that’s ok. Wings and details will be added as they dry a bit. But I guess I’m not surprised a crow flew into my studio this week. I do love crows. We have many who nest in our great big fir tree. They fly to the back porch cover to take loud splashing baths. I smile with delight every time.   

Everyday, I crochet. All during my illness and now during this crazy time, I find the rhythm of hook and yarn is like meditation that calms my body and soothes my mind. Lately, I’m making Christmas stockings at the request of a local shelter for women and children. I’ve never made crochet stockings before, so it’s a new creative challenge for me. 

(Ok, I don’t do patterns, I usually wing it. But I’m trying out patterns and using some stash and new yarn.) The one on the bottom left is in progress. 

Creating strength. 

Especially now, with the weak posturing loudly, I look for quiet strength. Senators and judges who use their strength and the law against the lawless. People raising their voices and writing words to protest. 

Here’s what I found out after I formed my birds this week. Birds symbolize freedom, something we are all fighting for right now. And crows are symbols of transformation, wisdom, strength, intelligence and the ability to see beyond the ordinary. 

I don’t know about you, but I need that right now. 

Maybe that’s why I found two more birds I’d done weeks ago and forgotten. 

I need to feel strong and free and see above the headlines. 

Finding Some Calm in the Storm

 

I don’t want to give in to the vortex of evil swirling around in this country. I’m aware and outraged. It is traumatic. I  understand everyone has their own ways to deal with it and while some are shouting and violent, I have to look for peaceful paths. 

I’ve had a year of physical issues that led to surgery and months of recovery. I’m learning to lean into what is best for my body, heart and mind. Walking in the park has helped me through sickness, surgery and life changes. And it’s helping me now to deal with the mess in the big White House. 

Stay rooted.  

That’s the message from my tree in the woods. As a child, my place of safety and calm was the woods nearby our suburban neighborhood. I sat leaning up against the tree for hours feeling at home and safe under its branches. I still visit ‘my trees’ in our nearby park, leaning in and listening to their wisdom. 

When I come home, I write those words down as a way to guide my day. Sometimes the words are a call to action. Other times, they are words of support and encouragement to keep me going. Right now, I think it’s important for you and me to find ways to stay rooted in truth and integrity. 

Mud.

Even as a child, I knew the power of mud. I’d sit in our yard and dig up the brown earth and hold it in my hands. If I had some water, I’d mix up mud soup. Other times, I’d dig deeper into the dirt where it was cool and firm, squish it between my hands and make mounds of elf houses. 

So it shouldn’t be a surprise that I still play with mud. It wasn’t my first career choice which was a writer in advertising. But my love of art and working with my hands lead me, once again, to mud. Working with clay, learning to throw objects and shape sculptures is my happy place. It just goes to show you, child’s play shows us our way in life. 

Right now, I need something to calm me during this stormy time. Maybe you do too. What did  you do that was ‘child’s play’? What was your happy place? Where did you feel safe?

Maybe it’s time to lean against a tree and ask. 

And find your own calm in the storm. 

  

Branching Out

 

All around me are signs of new life. The branches on my Camellia are filling with bright red flowers. There are new buds on my hydrangeas. And walking with my grandson, he pointed out daffodils, hyacinth and crocus blooms around the neighborhood. 

Inside, my Lily vases are filled with pussy willows and pink tulips. I love making my Lily vases but I also love seeing them bloom with all the different colors of the seasons from fall leaves to summer roses. 

Signs of Life. 

Since my major surgery, I’ve had a lot of difficult days. I expected the physical pain but what I didn’t expect was emotional pain. As my body healed, I got stronger and my mind cleared. But the emotions that bubbled to the surface were unexpected and upsetting. What I’ve come to find out, thanks to helpful friends who have gone through difficult surgeries, is that this is another phase of healing. 

As one new friend put it, “I just kept saying to myself, I’m alive. I didn’t die.”

So now, when the trauma hits me, I tell myself, “I’m alive.” And I look around me for other signs of life. Little leaves on my rose bushes and buds on the hydrangeas and daffodils. 

My clay is growing too. 

In the last few weeks, new growth is happening in my studio. Sparked by an idea I saw on Substack about growth patterns, I got out my clay. The words, branching out kept coming back to me. As I wedged and slapped and rolled the clay, I just let my hands lead me to form a circle. 

I pressed my favorite textures in and around it. Rolled out some coils and added them to the circle. Some fit and some didn’t but I know that’s ok, it’s all part of the process. The first one didn’t turn out exactly how I thought it would. But, again, that’s ok. 

The second one, I thought I had more of a plan based on a picture I saw. But again, my fingers lead the way and another circle appeared with what looked to me like flowers and limbs but then morphed into something like a Celtic knot motif. 

Another day, I looked around me studio and saw a watercolor painting of flowers I did whenI couldn’t do clay because I was recovering from surgery. I wondered. What would it look like in clay? Could I even do it? And why would I? Well, again, my hands got busy and something new did emerge from the clay. 

I guess my hands knew what my head didn’t, yet. 

I’m not dead. 

I’m alive. 

And like everything else around me, I’m branching out. 

No, Mr. Trump, You Can’t Have My Cookies

Once upon a time, I went to a small Catholic school where the nuns ruled. We wore uniforms and went to church before school. The nuns were very strict. If you did something against the rules, you were punished. On Fridays, the kid who got in trouble the most that week was spanked in the office with the intercom on so the whole school could hear the punishment. 

There was no cafeteria. We all ate at our desks in our classrooms. The nun would leave to get her lunch while an older boy sat at the nun’s desk eating his lunch. His job was to make sure we were quiet and stayed in our seats. 

As we all know, power corrupts. 

Even a young boy can let power go to his head. Our 8th grade lunch ‘monitor’ would walk up and down the rows of desks looking over everyone’s lunches. Was he looking out for us to make sure we all had enough food to eat? No. 

He was looking to see who had the best dessert. He was especially fond of chocolate cookies. I only got 1 or 2 small cookies in my lunches. It was either Fig Newtons or Oreos and I looked forward to that small treat everyday. 

Give me your cookies or else. 

If he liked someone’s lunch treat, he would take it. If you got upset, he’d threaten to tell the nun you misbehaved during lunch. Then the nun would send you to the coat closet while everyone else went out to recess. 

I usually hid my cookies under my sandwich, but this particular day, I forgot. I didn’t think he’d see them, but he did. He stopped and demanded I give him my cookies. 

I said, “No, you can’t have my cookies.” He said, “Fine, I’ll just tell Sister you were bad.” I said, “Go ahead. You still can’t have my cookies.” 

When the lunch bell rang and the nun came in, he told her I had misbehaved. She nodded and he left. I figured I’d have to spend recess in the dark coat closet. But when the nun came over to me, I got brave and told the truth. I told her that he wanted the cookies from my lunch and I when I said no, he threatened to tell her I’d been bad. 

She asked if he’d done that to anyone else and I nodded. She looked around and almost everyone nodded. She told me and rest of the class to go on out to recess. We never had that boy as our lunch monitor again. And guess who got spanked that Friday. 

Now we all have to deal with a bully. 

He doesn’t want your chocolate cookies, he wants your money. He wants the money you saved away from every paycheck for your entire life. He wants your social security money. 

He’s very rich, so why does he want our money? Power. And as we all know, power corrupts. 

What do we do? We stand up to the bully. 

No, Mr. Trump. It’s my social security. 

And No, you can’t have any of my cookies either. 

Sometimes it’s the little things that really matter.

 

Frankly, I don’t know what to write today. I want to say something uplifting, helpful and reassuring. But, I’m afraid, it’s just not there for me and maybe, not for you either. What’s going on around us is beyond words. And yet, words are more important now than ever. 

We have to stick together and one of the ways to do that is with words and acts of love and appreciation and caring. It doesn’t have to be grand, in fact, the smaller the better.

Little acts of love. 

During my illness and recovery period, I crocheted. I made hats with fuzzy yarn and smooth yarn. Small hats and medium hats and large hats. All different colors. I gave them out to my children and grandchildren but after a while I had made more hats than they could use. So I looked around for a place where hats and scarves were needed. 

This week, I was able to bring my hats and scarves to a center for women and children in my own neighborhood that I didn’t even know was there. I was greeted with excitement and told that one hat would fit one of their babies right away. It brought happy tears to my eyes to know that my little white hat was going to keep a little one warm. 

Little signs of life. 

On my daily walks through the neighborhood, I look for signs of spring. It’s still pretty cold here but this week, I saw this old, old tree. I stopped. This old tree has bark missing and limbs broken. It’s shorter than I am and I’m short. But even with all of these wounds and breaks, it is blooming.

This week, this tree is sign of life proving that even broken things can bloom again.  

Little creative acts. 

One of my favorite birds is the crow. They are powerful birds who live together and take care of each other. They build nests in our huge cedar tree, break the ice and drink from our patio cover and call out to each other and chat throughout the day. 

With everything that’s going on, I didn’t feel like creating. But the crows insisted, I think. Because one day, I took out my pen, paper and watercolors and next thing I knew, a crow had landed on my studio table. 

Yes. Little acts of love and signs of life and crows are the things that really matter.