Glimmers of Light

I cried. But this week, they were happy tears. I walked into my demolished kitchen and saw a wall of newly built and installed solid wood cabinets. They looked so beautiful. I am amazed by and grateful to the wonderful local cabinet builders. 

When we helped design and build this house, we knew what we wanted, solid oak cabinets. We’d worked with a local builder and cabinet maker to design and build red oak cabinets, desk and island. Yes, we paid more but it was worth it. 

So after all the water damage, we fought to make sure we had the same local cabinet makers and quality wood cabinets again. It was a difficult fight. But it was worth it. 

Natural beauty. 

As an artist, nature and earth elements are a big part of my creative work. But I realize even before I started working in clay, which comes directly from the earth, nature was my inspiration. Coastal landscapes. Rocks. Trees. Clouds and skies. 

My first painting class was from a local landscape painter, Charles Mulvey. His work focused on coastal scenes that I knew and loved. But what I loved best was his ability to work wet into wet creating beautiful soft skies and balance it with trees and rocks. 

When I look at wood, whether it’s trees, floors or cabinet doors, I see shapes and images in the grain. The flow of the color and texture inspires me. 

Light after the fight. 

I don’t like fighting. As a child, I was surrounded by it and I hated it. I tried to find quiet and peace burying myself in books, making mud villages in the yard, riding my bike to the woods. The woods were my safe space. 

That’s why having real wood cabinets and floors in my home is so important to me. I can see now, why I got so mad when the insurance company refused to give us the money to replace our real oak cabinets.

I had to fight. And the fight was worth it. Finally, over 8 months after all the water damage, mold and demolition, I see the light. My home is being rebuilt. 

My woods are back. And I get to see them everyday. 

Springing Forward In More Ways Than One

 

It’s a week of change for many of us. Clocks spring forward an hour. Schools take a break for a week. And for us, it’s officially the first week of our home reconstruction. 

Appliances were removed. Floors were torn out. Oak cabinets, countertops and the center island were all taken out. Tile was chipped away. Water damaged insulation, drywall and subfloors were replaced. The open concept downstairs is now completely cleared and ready for new work to begin. 

Sad and glad. 

We helped design and build this home, so seeing it torn apart is an emotional rollercoaster. I was so mad when the water valve failure ruined so much of my home. And I worried about contamination, health and safety. So having it all removed, finally, was a relief. 

But it was also sad to walk into the empty shell that remains. Yes, the beautiful ebony wood floor is gone. Colorful tile broken in pieces. Oak cabinets removed. When I looked around, I saw decades of our family life excavated.

Years of little things: homework at the desk, birthday parties, cookie decorating, egg coloring, teenage sleepovers, holidays, graduations, bridal showers, cats and dogs and newborn babies. Down in one corner, only a single letter magnet remained. 

Embracing the new. 

But, just like the clocks, I’m moving forward. We’ve picked our selections for sinks, countertops, flooring and paint. The cabinets are being built. And next week, I’m hoping to see new paint on the walls and ceilings to get ready for the cabinet and flooring installations. 

Trying to see the new in the rubble of the old is hard. But as I went around watering my plants, I noticed the small, new leaves unfurling. On our walk, daffodils and hyacinth are popping up.  And next to the sidewalk was this lovely note and a group of canning jars filled with plum blossoms. I scooped up a jar of flowering branches and walked on with a smile on my face and a much lighter heart. 

Loss is hard, no doubt about it. But now, it’s time to open my arms and my heart, like spring, to new growth, new family events and making new memories. 

All Packed Up

I’ve always moved myself. From home to college to the next new home and the next and the next, I wrapped, packed, labeled and carried out boxes from place to the other. Then, I unpacked. 

This time, it’s completely different. On Tuesday, a team of women arrived with stacks of new packing boxes, wrapping paper, bubble wrap and tape. They meticulously inventoried my downstairs. Then proceeded to wrap and pack everything from glasses, silverware and china to paintings, rugs, tables and chairs. They even wrapped up my ziplock bags and garbage can. 

They were amazing. They were so organized. And I’m forever grateful.

Studio chaos. 

What they didn’t pack was my studio. The water didn’t damage anything in there, thank goodness. So no reconstruction is necessary. While the rest of the house was broken up, my studio remained an oasis of calm during the chaos. Until this week, of course. 

Due to the demolition that will be happening in the rest of the downstairs, I worried about possible damage to my porcelain ceramic work. It was recommended that I take tall pieces down and pad them with bubble wrap. So I spent Monday wrapping and securing my work as best I could. 

I also had a bisque load in the kiln that needed to be unloaded. And then, find a safe place for all of those pieces. And I’m in the gallery for Ceramic Showcase, so I needed to be sure those pieces were secure and ready to deliver if the construction goes longer than expected. 

My studio is not and will not be a creative retreat or workable space for a month or more. It’s hard in many ways. I won’t be able to play with color or glaze the new pieces. Most of all, during this turbulent time, I won’t have my hands in clay to calm and ground me. 

Empty nest demolition. 

After originally spending a year designing and building this home, it’s going to be very hard to see it torn apart. Now I know that it needs to be done. I know this will insure we have a safe and solid great room and kitchen. But it’s hard. 

It’s hard to see all the boxes and furniture hauled away to parts unknown. 

It’s hard to see my beautiful floor, cabinets and counters ripped out. 

It’s hard to see it completely empty except for cobwebs and dust.

And it’s an very empty nest right now. 

But outside the window, I see buds and beautiful blooms. 

And I hope my new nest will bud into something just as beautiful.