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 Covid Christmas! Again.

 

I love the holiday season. Watching the twinkling lights. Bringing out all the handmade ornaments. Finding fun things for the people I love. 

There’s a lot to love. Except maybe covid. I spent all last year in fight or flight zone: masking up, hand sanitizing, vaccinating and boosting. Just when I thought it was safe to come out of my covid cave, here comes omicron. 

Family members are testing and, thank goodness, coming up negative. Ok, this is one time when a negative is a very positive thing, right? But I’m still worried and masking and distancing and wondering what can I do to feel better?

Baking a better holiday. 

I love baking. Sadly, my mother was not a baker. She tried but she just didn’t get it, maybe she didn’t want to, and really, that’s ok. I was lucky to have two very good grandmother bakers who passed down not just their recipes but their love of baking and their techniques. I learned even more in my college foods labs where the science of food was revealed to me. 

I loved foods lab, like chemistry, it involved knowing your elements and understanding procedures. Mix that with a grandmother who visited especially to teach me her celtic recipes and a New York Gram who loved to make authentic cheesecakes and Chocolate Kringles.

Shortbread from my Scottish Grandmother. 

It wouldn’t be a holiday in our house without Grandmother Gallacher’s shortbread. I’d share the recipe, but she made me swear I would NEVER allow anyone except blood family to have her recipe. Ok, she was a little scary and I still obey her to this day. I have passed down the recipe ONLY to my daughter. 

But…(you knew there would be a but, right?)…I have changed her recipe using my foods lab knowledge. Sorry Grandmother but, you really can double the recipe and not affect the quality. I do, as she stipulated, always use REAL, high quality butter. I always cream the butter and sugar to her specifications. Sorry Grandmother, I do use a mixer. Adding the flour is the real test of a good batch and that secret is safe with me. 

Cherry cake. 

Another bow to Grandmother Gallacher, this is an amazing cake. It’s really a traditional tea cake that would have been a staple at tea time, which Grandmother observed with serious attention. I was taught the proper way to warm the pot and steep the tea. And I do love tea. 

I also love this cake. Done right, it is moist, light, dense and rich. 

Yes, I have a few secrets here that I have developed myself over the years. Let’s just say, it’s worth the effort. She used candied cherries. I hate candied cherries. So I have developed, based on my foods lab training, a way to use real dried cherries that I modify, to give this cake a lovely natural cherry flavor and texture while preserving the traditional, luscious buttery tea cake. 

So set the kettle to boil. 

Warm the pot and get out your favorite tea.  

Then sit down. Sip tea. Take a bite of cherry cake. Enjoy the holiday anyway!

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.   

 

Grateful

Three years ago, I got the call I’d been waiting, hoping and wishing would come. Guide Dogs for the Blind had a career changer dog for me! And I couldn’t wait to meet him. 

It was love at first sight.

At 18 months old, Darby was charming and beautiful. His slightly lower ear, which GDB pointed out to me, made him even more adorable. He had his issues as all the career changers do. But nothing, I knew, that we couldn’t handle together. 

A mix of Scooby-Doo and Tigger too. 

Even at four years old, Darby is bouncy and trouncey and full of fun. He loves to chase balls but his favorite is to jump up to catch them. He walks through the park with bounce in his step, greeting dogs he knows with a playful bark. 

Greeting new friends or family at the door is one of his biggest thrills and challenges. He has a lovely, deep bark which always makes me smile (and feel very protected). Ok, he tends to rush new arrivals with an eagerness that can be overwhelming. But we have worked out a system to help him greet friends with a little less physical enthusiasm. (Hint: beef jerky treats work wonders)

Studio master. 

Whether I’m throwing on the wheel in the garage or slab building in the studio, Darby is there. He watches from his bed as I set up my work. Then once he’s confident I’m in the zone, he takes a nap. But he never zones out. 

Any movement toward the studio or side door and he’s instantly alert. He follows me outside while I clean up and I throw the ball for him. When I’m ready to head inside, he’s right there. And clay clean up happens with him at my feet. 

Watching dog. 

When I wake up, ok even before I wake up, Darby is awake. Laying on his big, round bed he watches and waits patiently for me to sit up. Once I do, he jumps up on the edge of the bed for morning kisses and hugs. After he gets love from me, he heads around the bed to say good morning to my husband. 

When one of the family is out, Darby always knows when they’re on the way home. And he sits and watches for the door to open. He’s learned to wait for us to go to him to say hello. And when I go upstairs or downstairs, so does he.  

Darby follows me everywhere. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I’m so grateful to his Guide Dog Puppy Raiser, Guide Dogs for the Blind (and all they do) and their wonderful Career Changer program. 

But most of all, I’m grateful for my Darling Darby.  

Shadows and Light

As I look out my windows at the amazing display of fall color, I’m mesmerized today by shadows and light. Right now, the bright sunlight paints a bush brilliant golden yellow on one side and the shadows add deep greens on the other. A bright red maple shines in the sun while the shadow leaves turn from burgundy to deep purple. 

I marvel at the views. And I wonder, what would the world look like with just light and no shadow? Or just shadow and no light?

Life without contrast.

There are many days of gray in the Pacific Northwest. Rain and clouds. Overcast skies. And I love those days as much as today’s sunshine. There’s a softness to the clouds. The leaves on the trees seem to blend on the edges, and yet, still stand beautifully against the sky. 

Looking at the trees in the rain, I see beauty in the softness. Mystery in the shadows. 

Living with too much contrast.  

Thinking back on this last year all I see is contrast. Masks vs no masks. Pro-vaccine and anti-vaxxers. Stay at home, then go back to work. Far right and far left. Lies and truth. 

In the midst of confusion and fear, it seems many want to fight while others flee or hide. While I understand, many times I wish for less contrast, more softness and silence and patience. Perhaps what I need is just what I see out the window today. 

Light alongside shadow. 

Looking out again, the sun has moved and I can’t get a good picture of the contrast outside my window. The bright yellow is now a muted goldenrod and the cadmium red leaves are now a deep burgundy. 

Perhaps, it’s time to stop trying so hard. Time to stop pushing for one way vs another. Let go of right vs wrong. And let the light move like the sun from bright to softness.

Accept that life is about both light and shadow. 

Both are needed.

There’s no need to fight. Or flee.

Just see.   

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. 

  

Small joys

 

This year I’ve decided to jump into fall. I don’t always love this time of year, but right now I need something to bring me joy. My kitchen is still in pieces. There is still no timeline or schedule as to when the reconstruction will begin. 

Since I haven’t been able to work in clay and I’ve run out of closets to clean, I took out my clippers and went to work outside. I trimmed the lavender and rosemary. I shaped up the Nandina and Hydrangeas. I made herbal sachets for the drawers and closets filled with rosemary, lavender, cedar and lemon oils. Now every time I open my closet, I smell summer all over again.

Fall flowers. 

I love chrysanthemums. But my very favorite are hydrangeas from my own backyard. The colors are so gorgeous. Burgundy. Purple. Deep Turquoise. I had so much fun arranging them around the house in big lily vases and small ruffle vases. Mixing in sculptures and porcelain leaves and witches is a joyful way for me play with nature and art. 

 

Pumpkins!

It wouldn’t be fall for me without pumpkins. This year, we found a treasure trove of white pumpkins growing in our garden. My simple joy: grouping them around the house. 

Another joyous event: a trip to our local farm and pumpkin patch with my daughter, son-in-law and grandchild. The farm had a small scale train to ride and fresh caramel corn!

Splurge. 

I don’t have a kitchen right now, so I splurged on decorating my front porch. The inside of the house might not look very good right now but the outside can. I couldn’t resist hanging a new wreath, putting out our white pumpkins along with a black metal one on the front porch. 

And I found a way to use more white pumpkins, with a white pumpkin candle and a wonderful handmade crow from fiber artist, Teri Grant. 

I can’t reconstruct my kitchen myself and it makes me sad. But my husband pointed out, right now we have to make our own happiness. So everyday I’m trying, one small joy at a time.