Believe More

It’s been a hard year to believe. I know when I chose believe as my word of the year for 2019, I saw it as a way to move forward while surrounded by backward motion. I didn’t know then, of course, how far backward things in this country could move. 

Finger pointing.  Bullying behavior. Lies. Sexual harassment. Hostile work environments for high level officials. More lies. Refusal of people to work together for the greater good and not just the good in their checkbooks. More finger pointing. 

Worse a ‘leader’ who is only interested in his own ego. Who has no idea or caring about the great democratic country in which he lives. Who is only out to ‘make a deal’ for himself. Who almost succeeded in bullying to cheat his way through another election. 

It’s hard. But I can’t give up. I won’t. 

Believe in truth.  And truthful people. 

I believe in the whistleblowers. I believe in the career public servants who know why and how and what to do in their jobs at home and away. Without these dedicated professionals employed in our military, diplomatic and justice service, we would be in even graver danger. 

I admire their courage in spite of hostility thrown at them. I’m encouraged by their courage to stand up, speak out about the unethical and illegal acts happening around them. And I admire their dedication to their jobs that involve keeping so many people safe here and around the world. 

Believe in goodness.

I believe in the goodness of our beliefs. The rights that are written into our Bill of Rights. The ideals of our constitution. And I believe there’s only one way to truly show my belief. Voting. We must maintain our most precious right with better security and support. 

I believe in the goodness of people. People who adopt stray animals. Donate food. Clean up our world. Build homes for others. Give clothes and blankets and toys. I see people who embody all that is the best in America. I do my best, even as little as it is, to make our world a good place. 

Believe in love and kindness. 

It’s there. It’s in you and me. It’s how we all not just survive but truly thrive. Together. 

I believe it. 

I believe in you even more now. 

I believe the truth will shine out through this darkness. 

Get Up On Your Feet

I work hauling 25 pound bags of clay from studio inside to wheel outside. I throw clay in a cold garage with my small space heater and my sweet pup, Darby. I lift pounds of clay up and cut it and wedge it and roll it to make vases and sculptures in my inside studio. 

There are some days when working means waiting for the kiln to finish firing, for bowls, vases or cups to dry. Sometimes it happens all at once and the days are so busy I worry I won’t get it all done.

There are days and weeks and months standing, walking, lifting and throwing in solitary silence. And days of noise and packing and unpacking and hauling and setting up displays. And days sitting in a gallery hoping someone will come in and buy something they love. 

At your age?

Yup. And even more so ‘at my age’, it’s important to be working. Whether that means writing my blog or throwing bowls or building new vases. This work is more than love, it’s life saving. 

When I was in college, I took a course in gerontology. 

One study in particular, made a big impression me. It showed how retirement and/or not working caused a significant downward trend in the health of the retirees. Comparing this study to another where people of a ‘certain age’ were still actively working in, around and outside their homes clearly showed an increase in their overall health both mentally and physically. 

It was such important news, I was asked to do a TV spot for the university. The message  of keeping active and NOT letting retirement lead to endless days in a chair doing nothing. That getting up and out and working was the way to live a longer, healthier life. 

The TV spot I did actually won me an award and the encouragement to go into advertising. 

So, yes, I still work. 

Sometimes I sit and throw and others I’m up and moving.  I know many people who are retired at my age. And many who expect me to be retired, too. They say to my face that, I’m retired with a ‘hobby’. They used to say, I was a housewife with a ‘hobby’.

Both comments are wrong. Both are demeaning. And both are unnecessary and detrimental to your health and mine. 

So. “Get up on your feet.”

I’m going to listen to some older and younger musicians like Gloria Estefan. 

“Get up on your feet

Get up and make it happen

Get on your feet

Stand up and take some action”

Words of the Week

“Be Open to New and Unexpected Ideas.”

The first appearance of these words came in an email from Maria Shriver’s Sunday Paper. And although I was raised Catholic, I don’t share her faith in the church organization, officials or outmoded misogynistic concepts. But reading her words left me feeling pleasantly surprised, uplifted and informed. This was unexpected. 

I’ll admit, the word unexpected makes me want to get a blanket and a hot cup of tea. But what if the unexpected is a good thing? What if life is meant to be a series of unexpected events that lead you in a new and better direction?  

This week has brought some new and unexpected events and ideas. In the studio, I loaded 4 porcelain maple leaves into the kiln and opened it up to find 3. One had cracked right down the middle. It happens. But this time instead of blaming myself, I was glad for 3 good ones. 

An unexpected call came mid-week and a local arts organization bought several pieces of my work for their annual auction. The best part, by being open, I met a new local artist who truly values other artists and their work. 

“Loosen Up.”

Leaning on my tree this week, these words came loud and clear. At first, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to ‘loosen up’. But the energy directed itself right into the tightness in my calves, knees, thighs, back, arms, neck and jaw.

But, I thought, I’m strong and to stay strong I need to tighten my muscles. Quickly the reply came, “No. Muscles held too tight, get tired and weak. Because you are strong, you can loosen your hold and trust your muscles to carry you.”

As I move around now, I’m grateful for the reminder. 

“Life gets very quiet before all the doors open. I’m learning that what can feel like loneliness is actually grace. Rest. Find your strength. It will all change soon.”

Life does get quiet as fall turns into winter. Daylight gives less time for studio work and the world seems to hunker down. Working solo in my studio, I do worry about loneliness but these words brought me back to the truth. The solitude can feel satisfying and restful, like grace. 

Sometimes, things happen around me to upset that balance. Like the gallery closing or pieces breaking or sales falling through. In those times, I need to find my strength knowing it will all change soon. 

Perhaps, these are important words not just for this week, but all the time. 

Remembering to staying open to the new and unexpected.

Trusting your strength to give you the ability to loosen up in tough times. 

Believe in restful grace. And believe doors will open. 

Turning Darkness into Light.

In the northwest, this is the time of year we ‘fall back’ by turning our clocks back one hour. It’s an old law that was meant to give farmers more time to work in the fields harvesting crops. It made sense then, it makes no sense now. And yet, we are still stuck in lock step, turning our clocks back the first Sunday in November. 

No one seems to like ‘springing forward’ or ‘falling back’. We all complain about lack of sleep and it upsets our body’s own natural rhythms. There’s evidence of more accidents and health issues around each time change. Which is why I’m glad the west coast has voted to stop these time changes. 

Why do we try to control time?

Because we are just one species on one planet in a vast universe. We’re afraid. One of the most elemental fears is darkness. As children, we all wake up in the night afraid of the dark. We fear monsters in the darkness under the bed or shadows in the corners. 

And we all know many reasons to fear the dark. There are dangerous animals outside. Violent people on the streets. More accidents happen in the night. So it makes sense to want to create more light when the days grow shorter and the nights last longer. 

Light is essential to our body, mind and soul.

We need light to survive. Sunshine gives our body what we need to make Vitamin D. Seasonal light changes affect our need for food and our moods. More light, well, just helps us feel lighter, too. 

That’s why we turn on the lights all around us 24/7. We want to feel safe. Protected. Healthy. With all these lights, and screens and daylight savings time, could we be missing something?

Maybe we need to honor the need for darkness too. 

Just like the earth needs the change in seasons, so do we. After the blooms are gone and fruit is picked, the trees need to rest. Leaves fall to the ground and create fertilizer for the next years  growth. 

Darkness cools and soothes and cradles new seeds and sleeping babies. Perhaps seasonal light changes not just trees but our very nature, too. 

We can slow down. Tuck into bed early. Rest by the fire. 

Let ourselves look up at the darkness as a place to imagine and dream. 

Bringing possibility out of nothing. 

Finding new ideas in the blank canvas of night. 

Welcoming Worry

Am I going a little crazy? Maybe. Maybe not. As a lifelong worrier, I’ve fought hard to avoid worrying. And I’ve tried many anti-worry methods: aerobics, meditation, jazzercise, yoga, chocolate and binge watching on Netflix.

Many of the methods were healthful and helpful. And what’s not to like about chocolate and binge watching, “Bones”.  But none of them made the worry go away for good. 

Maybe it’s in my genes or jeans?

As a child my great Aunt Mae told me, “Susan, don’t worry about worrying. You come from a long line of worriers.” I didn’t understand her then but I do now. 

First off, worrying about worrying is definitely not helpful. It’s like a dog chasing its tail. And while the spinning might give you a little exercise, it also keeps the worry circuit fully charged. That said, I’ve spent quite a few hours chasing my worries anyway, perhaps hoping the exercise would help my jeans fit better. 

What’s there to worry about anyway? Really?

The world ending tomorrow? Trump getting re-elected? A plane crashing into my house? Falling meteors? A chocolate shortage? Ok, I know some of these are silly. 

But we all have worries that are very real to us. From birth to death, we work to survive. And with all that work comes success and failure. And the worry follows. I worried I wouldn’t graduate. Or find a job. Or an apartment. Or a boyfriend. Or a home. Or have healthy babies. 

Remembering my worries now about my sweet, small babies, I smile. Both of my babies were considered ‘small’. I fed them and changed them and rocked them all the while worrying constantly. Were they eating enough. Would they gain enough weight. Would the grow up and be good, strong people. 

Now 30 years later, I see my ‘small’ babies are strong, healthy, beautiful adults. They are fine. They are talented. They are working. Now they have babies of their own. And, you guessed it, they worry. 

They worry their babies are too small. That they aren’t growing and learning and eating well enough. That they’ll never learn to sleep through the night. Will they grow up to be good, strong people?

Worry was not what I really wanted to pass on to them  But then, I remember my great Aunt Mae and I say to them, “Don’t worry about being a worrier. You come from a long line of worriers.” 

Maybe the best we can do is welcome worry. 

Maybe welcoming worry won’t make it go away, but it will perhaps, make it a bit lighter. Shining a light on it as a guide to tell us what we truly love and care about. Helping us understand what we need in our life that may be missing. Maybe it’s a part of ourselves that thinks survival depends on being prepared for catastrophe and the only way to do that is worry. 

I’m not sure. And I worry about that. 

But one thing I do see clearly: my worst worries never came true. So now, I’m going to work on welcoming my worries as part of life because I come from a long line of worriers. 

Living a Gutsy Life

Gutsy is a word making the media rounds right now because of a new book, “The Book of Gutsy Women” by a famous mother-daughter duo, Hillary Rodham Clinton and Chelsea Clinton. I can’t even imagine what Hilary and her daughter went through during their days in the White House and on the road during the 2016 presidential election. I admire both of them. 

What they did and do and who they continue to be takes real guts. And they see the ability to be gutsy in other women. I don’t see it in myself but I can see it clearly in other women around me.

Meet my favorite gutsy woman. 

She is my daughter, Caitlin. From a young age, she loved to sing and act. Her first role at the age of 12, was the lead in “Trial by Jury”, a Gilbert & Sullivan play. Her naturally beautiful voice took everyone by surprise. But as her mother, I saw one very gutsy girl up there on stage as a 6th grader in front of the entire junior high school. 

Now, she has a Master’s in Vocal Performance. A list of vocal scholarships, degrees, awards and performances as well as work conducting and teaching music at academic levels. 

Three years ago, she moved to Los Angeles with her husband and found new jobs and performance opportunities. 

Beginning a new life takes guts. 

Now, Caitlin is a new mom. And as any mom knows bringing a baby into the world is a gutsy act. Birth itself is scary and many times, traumatic. Recovery from surgery takes time and sleep which almost don’t exist as a mother of a newborn. Add the responsibility of being the sole manufacturer of food for another human being, right? Nursing your baby is natural and wonderful. And very overwhelming. 

Now add to all of that trying to make a living in an insecure world as a vocalist and musician and teacher. Well, it all takes a lot of guts. 

Women are gutsy. 

Many people are gutsy including men, of course. My husband and son and son-in-law come to mind first. They have each worked hard, suffered losses and still continue to accomplish more. 

Women many times start out in the background just by being born female. I grew up in a man’s world surrounded by brothers. I was taught early to do woman’s work. But in spite of or maybe even because of that, I was very determined to do more with my life than dishes. 

And I did. Writing. Awards. Art classes. Gallery shows. 

Yet, even though I’ve done a lot more than dishes and diapers, I’ve relished that too. Nothing can compare to holding and feeding and teaching my babies. And as those babies grow, it’s a growing challenge to follow their fearlessness into this fearful and uncertain world. 

But, let’s face it, living a real life takes guts.  

So maybe, I am a gutsy woman. 

And yes, you are too. 

Time Marches On

My daughter just had a baby. She was my first baby. My daughter has a son. My son has a daughter. They’re delightful, healthy and wonderful and I’m a delighted and grateful. 

I see my two babies grown up and having babies. They are older and, therefore, so am I. Oh, I’ve spent a long time in denial but time can not be denied. Nor should it. But in our society, especially for women, age is seen as something to hide. 

Cosmetics, procedures, diets, books, fitness programs are all sold to reverse or stop aging. But, we all know the truth, time marches on whether we like it or not. 

I’ve decided to like it. 

“Yup”, I said to my granddaughter, “I do have some white hair.” When she asked why, I said that my hair has changed during my life just like I’ve changed. When I was her age, my hair was almost the same color as hers, strawberry blonde. But as I got older, my hair got darker. And now, it’s getting lighter again. And I think the new lighter highlights will make my fair skin and blue eyes look even better. 

Nope, I don’t weigh 100 pounds anymore. But now I have muscles that can lift my granddaughter up high, throw clay, handle a 60 pound dog, prune trees, haul heavy grocery bags and do planks. And because I walk a mile or more everyday and do yoga, I can bend and stretch and climb stairs without pain. 

Ok, my knee may creak a bit, sometimes I get stiff. And that’s an important message from my body to take time to breathe and stretch. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to waste my time or anyone else’s complaining about it. Age does not give me cart blanc to whine. 

We live in a very ageist society. Women and men are expected to work until a certain ‘age’ and retire. Well, guess what? We don’t have to. I have had several women come up to me recently and ‘assume’ I am retired. When I say I am a working artist, they respond with, “Oh, you’re retired with a hobby.” Seriously? 

I’ve also decided to change how I see me. 

For years, I’ve been in denial of my wrinkles. I’ve refused to see my glasses as a sign of age. But they are there, right before my eyes. So it’s time to see them, and maybe give them some love, instead of hate. They do make it easy and far more comfortable to put all those details that I love into my art. 

Maybe it’s also time to see myself through a new lenses of experience as not just a survivor but someone who thrives. Someone who went through pain and heartache and fearful times and lives a good, creative, healthy, loving life.  

I’ve also decided instead of waiting for others to like me, I’m going to like myself for a change. 

I am still a woman. Smart. Creative. Loving. Capable. 

Yes, I’m older. 

Yes, I am a working artist NOT a ‘retired’ woman with a ‘hobby’. Seriously?

Yes, I’ve changed. 

Now I’ve decided as time marches on, to march with it.