Closet Archeology

There are many closet cliches because closets hold so much of our lives. It’s not about the shirts, hats, pants, dresses and coats, it’s about our life. I think we stuff our closets like we stuff our pantry, to feel full and safe. Storing old boxes of books, toys, photos are a way to preserve the past, but it also keeps us from having to let it go and move on. 

Even when we actually move from one place to the next, it’s feels better to move the unopened boxes and old clothes. Because then, we can bring our past with us into our future. The known moves with us into the unknown. 

Digging into the past. 

I spent the last week digging through my children’s childhood. They are grown up and parents now. Yet inside their childhood bedroom closets were boxes and boxes of dolls, trains, books and games. I’ve asked them many times to come and take a look, to take or toss what they wanted. Somehow, they never seemed to have the time. 

With 2 grandchildren, I decided it was time to dig through it all and pass on my children’s childhood memories to them. And keep some here for the next generation to enjoy. 

What a find. 

I found Barbie and baby dolls. Marble works and legos. A stuffed Pooh bear and a wooden carousel that still play lullaby music. A baby book, boxes of photographs. Band uniforms and ball gowns. Legos by the millions and a beloved Brio train set. 

I also found my own Barbie doll and her case with clothes that dated back to my childhood. A Chatty Cathy doll who no longer talks and had one eye missing. And yes, that ever popular Cabbage Patch doll. 

Memory museum. 

I don’t want my house to become a museum to the past. I don’t want to burden my children with things they don’t want. So some of the things got tossed and some were donated. 

But some of the closet artifacts moved back in with my now grown up children. They sent me pictures of them reading cherished books to their children. Sharing memories with their significant others as well as with each other. 

I smiled through happy tears. Seeing my grandchildren joyfully playing with their parent’s toys. Hearing my children cherish the wonders of their own personal museum finds in their long forgotten books, toys, party photos, notes and music. 

And while we avoid cleaning our closets because we don’t want to dig up our past, maybe the lesson of closet archeology is revealing the joy buried under the dust. 

A Season of Change

Hours tick tock into a day. Days flip like cards into weeks. Weeks fall into months. I’m always amazed by the amount of time passing through my life. Time feels like it happens around me instead of through me.

Lost in minutiae, I don’t see the minutes marching by me. I have to admit, I like being lost in the flow most of the time. Throwing clay on the wheel. Rolling a slab for a vase. Mixing and painting a teacup or bird. Creating is my way to be lost and found in time. 

Summer is gone and it’s September?

It’s hard to believe. Covid has turned everything upside down worldwide causing so much pain, sorrow, anger and fear. Fall is coming but not with schools starting or harvest festivals or art shows or open studios.

I remember how excited my children were to go back to school. I think of how many will not even be able to go kindergarten. They won’t be able to run into a freshly decorated classroom with their names on cubbies, new paints on easels and sharpened pencils ready to use.

Bye Bye Birthday parties and hello Birthday drive byes. 

My grandson’s 1st birthday was in late August but with Covid restrictions, a traditional birthday party was out of the question. But my lovely daughter came up with a creative way to give her baby his first birthday anyway. 

With The Hungry Caterpillar theme, we went to work making clay ornaments. 

A caterpillar made of cupcakes. 

And a flying butterfly from clay. 

Luckily, it was a nice day for an outside, drive-by party. And everyone did a great job of staying safe, enjoying cupcakes and celebrating baby Cieran’s first year on our planet (in spite of Covid).

    

Lost time. 

Six months. I can’t believe that Covid has been here that long already. I spent many days, weeks and months between denial and fear. As a self-employed person, I clung to my routine. I threw and rolled and painted and fired and glazed and fired again.

Even as my shows were cancelled and galleries closed, I filled my studio shelves with bowls, birds, vases and teacups. I did social media promotions, online craft fairs and opened an Etsy shop. I worked and waited and hoped it would all end soon. 

 A season of change. 

Yes, Covid is still here. I’m still creating and working. But I’m still worried and wondering how and when will all this end? Will my granddaughter ever get to run happily into her classroom? How can we all change and recover together?

As I leaned on Mother Cedar this morning, I felt a sliver of warm sunshine and heard a message. “Take this small slice of light and let it into your soul. Let it warm you and lift you and heal you. And give it to everyone around you.”

Forward into the Past

This week in the studio, I stepped forward into the past. Long before I had my own children, I took care of and taught little children in a local pre-school/daycare. 

I loved setting up the tables every morning with colorful toys, play dough and paints. Making wall art from their art. Setting up learning stations, reading corners, dress up and home areas. One day, I set up a long piece of butcher paper on the school patio with trays of paints and empty thread spools, small balls and sponges for the children to roll, toss, drop and splat with abandon. The mess was all easily sprayed away with the hose. The giggles were priceless. 

Teacher to mother to artist. 

When my own were born, I gave up my job as a creative in advertising to be a creative mom. And had the joy of setting up toys and paints and craypas for my own little children. I volunteered in their classrooms and taught art literacy. 

As their lives moved on, I moved onward too. I took classes and worked in watercolor, pastels, oils, copper and finally came back to clay which I did in high school. 

Around it goes again. 

I am so fortunate to be here for my grown children and their children. I love my Mondays with Meyer and now Cieran gets to come and play, too. I have a trunk of toys, a tiny kitchen, books, a dress up area and, of course, a storage cube filled with kid-friendly art supplies. 

Last week, we honored Eric Carle’s book, “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” again. This time, we made individual ornaments using Cieran’s toes for the caterpillar and a beautiful butterfly out of clay. These will all be fired and painted and ready in time for his one year birthday. 

Remembering the joy. 

This is what I so easily forget: the sheer joy of creating. The soft, squishiness of fresh clay. Colors flowing and mixing. Finding a new line. Adding a dot. Pressing a stamp, a piece of lace or hardware to make a new texture. 

Pressing the words into the wings of the new butterfly is a different kind of writing. It’s still a way to hear my soul speak. And especially now, to pass on those messages to my children and my children’s children. And to you, too. 

And hopefully, as we move forward from this time maybe the joys of the past can come with us in a new way.

Everyday Dads

I grew up in a family of boys. As the only girl, I was the odd ‘man’ out always trying to be tough and at the same time hoping to be seen in the crowd. 

It was my Dad, not my Mom, who always had my back. It was my Dad who reached out when I was overwhelmed. He drilled me in math. He gave me his books to read. When I wondered ‘why’ about anything from the Bible to history or science, he answered my questions truthfully. And counseled me to keep the knowledge to myself around the nuns who taught by sending me to the coat closet for asking too many questions. 

I loved him and thank him for everything he did for me. Yet, he was a traditional man of his time. He traveled a lot. He did not help around the house. He was not an ‘everyday’ Dad. 

A new kind of Dad. 

I married a man who is the best kind of Dad I could imagine for my children. He’s been all in from the moment they were born. He diapered, rocked, bathed, fed, played and loved our children. He built them play sets. He read them books. He took them to work with him. 

Now my children have their own children. And my son has diapered, rocked and fed his daughter. Today on Father’s Day, he made her a delicious egg and potato breakfast. He got her dressed, took her shopping and played with her. 

 

This is my son-in-law’s first Father’s Day. His son is not yet a year old and yet, he has also been there from the moment that baby was born. And he’s diapered, fed, and rocked his son. Today, he set out his ‘Dad’s’ day dinner for his wife and himself while their son napped. 

Everyday Dads. 

My Dad was there for me and he was a good Dad for his day. 

But my children had a Dad who was there for them everyday. And he still is. 

Now, because my children had an everyday Dad, they are there for their children everyday, too. 

Giving Birth

Watching my dear daughter go through the stages of birthing a new human into the world is a wonderful, difficult, scary, exciting, joyful experience. But it is called labor for a reason. It is also a huge, overwhelming task that encompasses the entire body, mind, heart and soul. 

I’ve been there. Twice. 

One question my daughter asked me as I wiped her brow and held her hand was, why would I ever think of having two children? Or more accurately, after 24 hours of labor contractions and no sleep, why oh why would anyone ever consider having another baby after this?

I could have laughed it off and said, ‘Oh, I was just crazy.’ Or skirted the issue with, ‘Really it wasn’t all that bad’. Or lied with the tried and tired phrase, ‘Oh, once you see that beautiful baby, you’ll forget all the pain’. But that’s not me, I don’t lie to my children. 

What did I say?

The simple answer is I knew I wanted two children, 3 years apart. And I thought my second birth process would be completely different than my first. That I’d do it better. That it would be easier. That because I’d been through it once, my experience would help. In most of the above, I was completely wrong. 

But I did it anyway. Again why?

  

Again, simple answer is I wanted to be a mom. Because I wanted to love, teach, watch, and help make babies grow into strong, creative, amazing adult people. 

And I wanted to do it better than my own childhood experience. I realize now that my desire to be a pre-school/kindergarten teacher and all my classes in education, development, nutrition and psychology were my way to learn better ways to parent. 

But there are so many more equally true answers. 

Life is precious. Each and every one, especially the ones you are privileged to bring into this crazy and chaotic world. 

Life is an amazing mystery. From conception to birth, the process the human body goes through to merge two microscopic elements into ears, eyes, skin, body, bones, blood, veins, muscle and mind into a unique, original, individual person is nature’s biggest and most thrilling secret construction project. 

Life is a miracle. Learning to see and feel and hear and touch. To kiss and walk and read and run and eat and sleep and make love is miraculous. Every day, each of us gets to breathe in new air, awaken our body, listen to our mind, hear new ideas and create with what we have in our lives on that day. 

Some days it might be just putting one foot in front of their other. Swinging on a swing. Planting a flower. Throwing clay. Singing. Reporting the news. Teaching. Walking the dog. 

And yes, life is also messy. There are many chills and spills and heart wrenching moments. But I think you’ll all agree it’s a roller coaster that, once we get on, most of us never want to get off.

Mondays with Meyer: "I no like that."

This is my granddaughter's favorite phrase right now and I can't think of anything that typifies the two-year old better. It's a time for challenge and discovery and daring-do's. It's watching a human being emerge from it's chrysalis baby stage into a beautiful, caring, bold, adventurous little person. 

You can call me crazy, but I find two-year olds amazing. 

Yes, even when Meyer says no. Even when she climbs my furniture. Throws my throw pillows. Pokes my paintings. Picks my flowers and digs in the dirt. Ok, maybe I get a little scared when she grabs for the lamps or other breakable objects. So I 'toddler proof' my home when she is over to keep her safe. I plug outlets, gate stairs, lock cabinets and drawers. 

But I say yes to as much as possible, even when it makes a mess. Why? Because the job of a toddler is to learn about her world with her own bare hands. Whether it's smooshing play dough or stirring a pot of cold cereal, picking tomatoes, examining a leaf or making bubble pie with abandon. That goes for grown-up things, too. When she wants to touch something, as long as it's not dangerous, I say yes. She's touched bushes we pass on our walks, roses and orchids, sculptures, ceramics, paintings and masks. She loves to smell the different soaps and herbs, too.  

Everything is done with energy and zest for living.

Eating, walking, talking, running and, yes, even napping is done by diving in. That does make life a challenge for both of us. She wants to take risks and I want her to stretch her wings but she needs my protection. I am always there for her.

But sometimes, I have to let her go. I, quite literally, have to put her down, give her a kiss and say, go play. And sometimes, she looks at me and says, "I no like that."

She waits for me then, to get mad, to push, to prod, to bargain with her. I don't. Because I know she is not being bad or trying to make me mad, she's learning about the power of attention, intention and limits. So sometimes, she will try something wild. Or she will scream or cry or throw a tantrum. 

And many times, I have to keep myself from laughing. 

I have to remember, she wants limits to feel safe but she has to push limits to grow. I have to let her know I love her even when she's mad or sad or tired or dirty or makes a mistake. I have to let her try out her world and be ready to catch her before she falls. 

Or when she does fall down, I kiss it and make it better knowing that is when, "I no like that."

Back in the Studio Again.

For the past several months, my studio time has taken a backseat to life.  Not that I've been living in the fast lane, but it seems like this summer has flown by and my studio routine has flown out the window right along with it.  I'm not upset about it in the least.  I'm glad. 

Life(and art) is what happens when you're making other plans.

Or, in my case, doing other things.  I've spent the last 5 months taking trips out of town for joyous events in my 'children's' lives.  I've spent many days watching my daughter perform, graduate with a master's and last but not least, be her travel partner on her new life road to L.A.  I've also spent many days watching my granddaughter grow from baby to toddler and helped her learn to walk and talk. 

Studio guilt?  Or fear.

In the past, any change in my studio routine or creative process led to a lot of guilt and fear.  My mind would reel with questions and accusations.  How could I call myself an artist if I wasn't making art, constantly?  How could I have pieces to show and sell, if I wasn't in the studio everyday?  What would happen if I stopped making for any length of time?  Would I never go back to my art?  Would I, (oh no) become a 'hobbyist'?

Fear doesn't create art.  Love does.

And love, also creates life and 'a life'.  And I want it all.  Yes I do.  

And what I've found out by taking time off from the studio is this: work gets done.  Really.  Pieces get made, painted, bisqued, glazed and, yes, miracle of miracles, sold.  Even while I'm on a road trip with my daughter to L.A.  

My art waited for me, patiently.  There on the shelves in my studio were pieces ready to be bisqued again.  There were new pieces ready to be under glazed.  There is a load in the kiln right now, waiting for me to unload it and get it ready for final glazing.  Show labels are made and ready for my next show.  And I know, next week, I'll be back in my studio with my hands in fresh clay again.  

Surprisingly, I'm not feeling either guilt or fear. My life is and always has been about making whether it's making an ad, a family or a new piece of art.  It's not the thing that matters, it's the heart.  And, I truly believe, there is no art(or life) without it.