Searching for the light in the moment

Today, the sun is shining over my shoulder. I’m warm underneath my homemade crochet infinity scarf. I’m sipping fresh, hot coffee. 

Right here, right now, I’m ok.

It’s been a crazy, tough, scary three years, hasn’t it? And I’m here to admit, this new year has been much of the same. New covid variant. New mask protocols. New isolation guidelines. Things are changing on a daily basis. Shopping is still difficult with supply chain issues. Vaccinations were supposed to make everything good again, but even with boosters on top of shots, we’re still being told that’s not enough. 

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had more than enough. So why? Oh why did I pick my word of the year to be: shine?

Clay therapy. 

I did get a new supply of my favorite clay, English Grolleg porcelain. And this week, I finally got to sit down at my wheel, next to my space heater and throw. What a relief it is. And how easily I forget that no matter how small or large a piece I throw, I come away calmer, happier and, yes, more centered. 

I’ve written many times about how the process of throwing is very zen for me. It requires my precise attention, yet at the same time, the ability to let go and flow. I turn on my Bluetooth speaker, space heater, put out the bed for my ‘Lab’ assistant and throw. 

The biggest step: set no goals. No expectations. No pushing. No production quotas. All I did was measure out chunks of clay for a couple of pieces. In what seemed like no time at all, I had 2 new bowls. 

I felt calm. And refreshed. Even though I was covered in mud. 

Firing up the kiln.

This week, I fired my first kiln load of the year, too. It was just a bisque load but with clay you never know what might happen. Some of the pieces still had their natural leaves attached which needed to burn off safely. And the clay I’d used was older and drier which makes it more vulnerable to cracking during firing. 

Luckily all went well. Leaves burned off nicely and no cracking. I’m looking forward to painting new colors on the leaves and glazing the big

Did I shine this week?

Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve had family with omicron. Supply stresses. Still no sink or floor in my kitchen. Professional dilemmas and doubts. Do I do a large indoor show? Will it get shut down? Will it be safe? Will people come? Is it worth the risk?

I sigh and breath in:

The feel of new clay in my hands and new pieces from the kiln. 

My ‘Lab’ Assistant snoring peacefully. 

Today’s sun on my head. 

Maybe this year’s word, shine, means searching for the light, however small, in each moment. 

So right now, I’m going to take in that softness, color, sweetness and light. 

 

 

 

Last year, I was hopeful. Through all the fear and pain and division and difficulty of 2020, I found hope in my word for that year: heal.

Here at the very end of this year, I see more wounds all around me. I saw the need for healing from covid, from divisive politics, from quarantine and fear. I wished healing that would bring us together. Solve long unsolved problems. Find places to come together for the good of everyone. 

Did we heal?

I don’t know. I did see some steps forward. More and more people did get vaccinated and boosted. Children went from virtual to in person learning. Soccer games filled the neighborhood fields. Playgrounds again played the sounds of laughter.

Ok, the laughter was behind masks. Because there were scary variants in the air. And some still denied the problems, avoided the solutions all to avoid their own fear.  

Life lived anyway. 

In spite of the masks, I kept throwing. In spite of a flooded kitchen, I kept on making vases, teacups, bowls and plates. In spite of galleries closing and cancelled shows, opportunities literally ‘popped up’. 

Thanks to other wonderful artist friends, I got chances to get out there with my work in a whole new way. I learned to set up a tent, table and my art outside on the grass on a sunny day in August. Another time, I set up outside a pub in the rain on a cold day in December. Both times, I met new people, got great feedback on my work, learned new skills and sold my work. 

Healing, like mending, takes time. 

Fixing or mending a break whether it’s bone or cloth is a process. It only happens stitch by stitch. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Even though I had hopes a year would be long enough, I was wrong. 

Healing takes its own time. And I know some wounds, even in one lifetime, don’t heal. 

And looking back, I see some progress.

How about you? Looking back this year, what small steps did you see?

Happy December to You

 

As I sit here on the window seat watching the winter sun set, I wonder. What will tomorrow bring? Sun? Rain? Warmth? Cold? Does it even matter?

Watching the clouds softly moving in a light blue gray sky, I sigh. Even though it’s the end of another day, it doesn’t feel that way to me. I see layers of clouds and light sky and deeper blue clouds and distant trees pointing upward. There are streetlights turning on. A stop light blinking red and green through the trees. And strings of colored lights on a rooftop a few streets over. 

There’s a lot of light to see as the sun sets. 

Life hasn’t been easy for many of us these past few years. I thought this year, it would be easier, brighter, safer. Didn’t you?

Red light. Green light. 

As the stoplight changes through the trees, I remember that childhood game. I loved playing it. 

Do you remember? Red light. Green light. 

When it was a green light, I ran around joyously. Laughing. Just feeling the breeze, the ground and freedom. When someone shouted, ‘Red light’, I stopped still. Feeling my feet on the ground. Holding my breath. Waiting. Wondering. Still. Eagerly waiting for the change, the chance to go. 

This last year has been a very long game of red light/green light for me.

Birthdays and funerals. 

This is my birthday month. It was also my Dad’s birthday month. In fact, the dates were just days apart.  That meant for most of my life, my birthday was a dual celebration. I’ll admit, as a kid, this was hard. No special party for me. No special cake for me. It was, most of the time, what my dad wanted. I just tagged along. 

My dad is gone now. I miss him always but especially this month on our shared birthday week. I do get to ‘do my own thing’ but I miss being able to share it with him, too. Ok, I don’t miss the pork roast but we did agree on chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. 

Let’s all make a wish. 

We are all still dealing with covid. Vaccinations. Masks on and off and on again. Waiting for everyone to get their vaccines. So we can all go out into the day and on with our lives. 

Since it’s my birthday month, I’d like to invite you to help me celebrate. 

Picture a cake or maybe just a slice with a candle on top. 

Wherever you are, light a candle. 

Look at it and let its shine brighten and lighten your heart just a little. 

Make a wish for yourself, your children, your family, your cat or dog or fish. 

Then, blow it out. 

Happy December to you!

In spite of it all - Thankful

With Thanksgiving day almost here, it seems right to write about thankfulness. But for me, this year, it’s more than honoring a holiday. 

It’s about surviving a scary, covid year. It’s about seeing my children, once again, moving out and onward toward a better life. It’s about getting through every day with half a kitchen since July. It’s about finding new ways to create, cope and even cook a Thanksgiving dinner. 

Thankful for the park, walks and playtime. 

Almost everyday, my husband, darling Darby, my daughter and grandson walk to and through our neighborhood park. It’s a beautiful, bountiful place. Filled with trees, a lake, deer, beavers, otters, ducks, geese and herons. 

It’s filled with slides and swings and climbing things. But there’s one place my grandson loves best: bridges. He waves to them as we pass over and under them. He gets out and walks them from one end to the other and back again. And again. And again. 

When I think about it, life is filled with bridges. At every age and stage, there are many things we have to cross to get from one place in our lives to another. Bridges that need building and sometimes, rebuilding. 

Thankful for a plastic sink and dishwasher. 

Since July, I’ve had no sink, disposal, dishwasher or floor in my kitchen. I’ve washed dishes by hand in the laundry room sink. I’ve made coffee next to clean underwear. And put down a patchwork of rugs to make it safer to walk across multi levels of floor.

A few weeks ago, my contractor came in and installed a temporary sink, hooked up my dishwasher and my refrigerator’s ice maker. Three simple things I am simply very thankful to be able to use again. 

Thankfully and finally this week, the insurance adjusters approved our contractors estimates for reconstruction. The damage done in July 2021 will all be fixed now sometime in April 2022. 

Thankful for clay, throwing, pop ups and studio visitors. 

Because of the flood and the mitigation, I wasn’t able to use my wheel. Without clay in my hands to steady me, I’ve had some very dark and difficult days, weeks and months. 

But now, thanks to moving help, my wheel is plugged back in. It took a few sessions to get everything balanced with foot props and the wheel levels. And a few sessions to feel the mud lightening my heart, my spirit and my imagination. After just a week or two, I’m surprised to see shelves of work waiting to be painted, glazed and finished. 

The biggest encouragement of all is seeing the work I love to do, be loved by others. Given as gifts. Taken home where cups are sipped, bowls used, vases filled with flowers. I’m always thankful for my studio visitors, social media likes and pop up customers. 

Thankful. 

In spite of all the damage, I’m Thankful it will all be fixed. 

In spite of all the fear and losses, I’m Thankful for all the love and support. 

In spite of all the rainy days, I’m Thankful for herons, otters, and of course, bridges.   

 

Flow

I love the Oregon coast. I haven’t been there in over 4 years. In fact, I haven’t been anywhere, really in two years. I’ve walked my beloved park. Visited local farms and wineries. Gone grocery shopping. But I haven’t really taken a trip or a vacation. 

I know I’m not alone. Covid, the Delta variant have kept us all close to home, worried and fearful. Add a death in the family and I needed to retreat or find a retreat to soothe my soul, breathe in deeper and let out all the surrounding sorrow. 

Waves

Just watching the waves move in and out. Foaming and folding and glistening. I could feel a deep calm rolling over me. The sound of the surf quieted my mind. The push and pull inside me gave itself over to the ocean. 

Gazing at the sun moving downward towards the ocean brought up so many feelings. Hope. Sadness. Love. Fear. Connection. Loneliness. Support. And joy. Yes, as the sun slowly lowered,    I could feel my soul filling up with warmth. 

Play

Taking my sweet doggy to the beach is always fun. But because he was trained from puppyhood to be a guide dog, he was always on a leash. This is his comfort zone. Ok, I’ll admit, mine too. We found a small, inlet beach area with only a few people. And I decided, it was time to take the chance. 

He loved it! He splashed. Barked. Met another dog. He ran back and forth between my husband and I playing monkey in the middle. He got lots of treats each time he ran to us. I was so excited to see him sniff the waves and run. Joyously playing. 

Mud

Art making is my therapy. I need to put my hands in clay to clean the mud off my heart and soul. This last week, I made a decision. Even though my kitchen is still a mess, I needed to make a mess with clay to feel better. 

So I threw. Even if these bowls don’t turn out, it doesn’t matter. Even if they sit on my studio shelf and dry and crack and never get glazed, it’s ok. Because just the act of wedging, throwing, pulling and shaping the clay is an act of hope. An act of balancing then with now. Centering me. And allowing the future to flow. 

  

Take a breath

 

Where are you today? What are you thinking or feeling or looking at? 

Are you tired or rested? Is your mind blissfully wandering or skittering here and there?

I used to meditate. Ok, not very well, but I did it anyway. It helped slow down my mental gymnastics but it didn’t stop them. I thought that meant I’d failed and after a while I gave it up and moved on. I find yoga helps me more because focusing on the physical movement redirects my monkey mind. It gives it something ‘to do’. 

I’ve written many blogs about my war with ‘doing’ vs ‘being’. I know I’m not alone and that is a comfort. But I think what I really need to do is end the war. 

Waving my white flag. 

More than a year of covid is getting on all our nerves. Add scared parents and grandparents seeing their sweet little ones head off to school without vaccinations. It’s enough. No, it’s more than enough. Right?

We all need a break right now. And I don’t mean a vacation, which for some is helpful, but for me that would only add more to my mental and emotional stew. What I really need, and maybe you do too, is a rest. Waving a white flag in the face of fear. 

Surrender

Looking out at today’s beautiful, blue sky I picture a cozy, quiet hammock underneath a huge oak tree where I can lay back my head, look through the gently swaying leaves. Still green against a blue sky, I watch the leaf patterns change as the air moves. 

I breathe in the sweetness. 

I hear a caw.  

I feel supported. 

Safe. 

Although there is still so much swirling in the heads and minds of the world. Mine and yours. 

Right now, I am here. 

Doing the best I can. Maybe doing the only thing I can right now.  

Taking a breath.  

Right Now

Sweet summer breezes flow through my window calming my mind and body. Being in the moment, any moment, even this small moment with total attention is my ongoing challenge. 

Today, I look up at the cerulean sky and cotton ball clouds. And take a good deep breath. That’s all. Just that. 

Because right now, with what’s happening inside my home and outside in the world, this is what I need to do. Maybe this is all I can do. Maybe this is all any of us can do. 

Breathe. 

Yes, covid cases are rising. Again. It’s scary. It’s maddening. And I really can’t do a thing about it. Yes, viruses live among us all the time. They mutate to survive.

Taking a deep breath is one thing I can do.  Other things we can all do to survive is get vaccinated, use good hygiene and practice social distancing. 

I’m grateful to be fully vaccinated. I’m relieved my husband and children are also vaccinated. We can see each other safely. And I can see my vaccinated friends, too. 

Right now.

It’s easier said than done. Right now, my kitchen has no sink, cabinets are missing and my floor is chopped up in sections of subfloor, old vinyl and laminate wood plank. This is due to a  plumbing failure and water damage. 

It’s been scary. I’ve had many sleepless nights. Yet, I’ve found help from family, friends and neighbors. The support and understanding flowing my way from their hearts is calming mine. Their stories, advice and helpful information gives me the strength and courage I need. 

Right here. 

Several people have said to me this week, “One thing at a time.” This is how I can focus. Cleaning up the dust from the demo in my kitchen. Washing my dishes by hand. Making blackberry syrup for pancakes. Weeding my garden. 

In the studio, I can do small things. Right here, I can glue magnets on my diversity rainbow hearts. I can take new product pictures. 

I can update my Etsy shop. 

I can get ready for an upcoming outdoor show.

Here on the window seat, I can rest for a bit. 

Breathe in the cool breeze and savor the sunshine.

Right now. 

Right here.