Grateful

It’s been a crazy year with so much change. And I’ll admit, I’m still in the process of coping with it all. Now, I have more good days than not good days. That’s progress. And, I am also very aware of how fortunate I am to be here on this earth, in my home with people I love and who love me. 

My family and friends and supporters are true treasures, whether they are two or four footed. Whether it’s sitting quietly reading, taking a trip to the craft store, helping me show my work,  walking in the park or giving me a giggle, I’m grateful for them everyday. 

Grateful for mud and yarn.

Putting my hands in soft, squishy, clay is one of the most therapeutic things I can do. It calms my swirling mind. It soothes my spirit. And it gives me something to do that I can show and sell. 

Being creative and productive is essential to my mind and body. I don’t take it for granted that I have the ability and opportunity to make things in my studio. Even if a piece takes a wrong turn, I see it as a challenge to turn it around again. Or, and this is hard for me, let it be what it wants to be instead of what I thought it would be. 

Crochet is another therapy for me. I take it out in the evening while we’re watching TV and just let my hands get into the rhythm of stitching. I’ve made so many blankets lately, everyone in the family has one (whether they wanted one or not). Then i saw all these knitted pumpkins in stores and decided to try my hand on a crochet pumpkin with leftover yarn. It didn’t turn out too bad. Now, I’m moving on to making a few hats for the new grand baby. After that? Who knows? 

Grateful for home. 

My husband and I designed and built our home many decades ago. It was a stretch for us, but we did it. Since then, we’ve repainted, reroofed, redone many of the spaces. Even though the  flood caused a major upset and change, I’m grateful we’re still here. 

Outside this year, we were challenged by the city and neighbors to fix the sidewalk broken by a huge Dedora Cedar tree. The city demanded we fix the sidewalk. And our neighbors demanded we cut down the tree because they hated the needles falling on their cars. I’m grateful for the expert arborists who helped us figure out how to fix the sidewalk and trim the tree. So it still stands tall and beautiful. 

Grateful. Yes, I am.  

For love and support and family and friends.

For my mud and clay lovers and gallery owners.

For my home and garden and trees. 

For all of us on this planet who move together to make this a better world. 

Making and Baking and Moving On

It’s foggy outside making it hard to see the partial solar eclipse but that’s ok. Walking through the park, I can admire it anyway. I love the soft blurry light along side the crisp crescent edges. The park is quiet, even the ducks are silent. It’s calm and cozy beautiful. 

And I realize, as I walk along with Michael and Darby, that it’s all good. It’s a surprising feeling after all the unwanted change, grief, fear and frustration of the last 7 months. But somehow, like the fog, a sense of softness and serenity has enveloped me. Quietly.  Slowly. And without my conscious thought, I’m stepping into a new life. 

Making.

I’m a maker and a dreamer who sees things not just with my eyes, but with my hands. I love color and texture and words. I don’t always know what I’m doing but I do it anyway. I started out painting in watercolor when I was 16 and I fell in love with its flow and softness. Wet into wet watercolor is just so juicy and pure. 

Lately, I’ve been experimenting with using watercolor techniques on clay. I’m not quite there, yet, but I’m enjoying the process. Here’s what came out of the kiln this week. 

I’ve also been playing with small clay animals and angels. Maybe it’s the young grandchildren who fill my life right now that’s inspired these colorful characters. I’m not sure and I don’t think it really matters. They’re fun to make and isn’t that the goal?

Baking.  

It’s that time of year, cool and foggy, when I just love to bake. One of my favorites are Macaroon cookies. But now with all fall weather and misty mornings, I’m craving pumpkin bread. 

Baking up a loaf or two fills my kitchen with warm aromas and my heart with comfort. And what could be better than a warm slice right out of the oven with a freshly brewed cup of tea. 

Moving On.

Life changes and it changes us as well. I’ll admit I struggle with change, even when it’s a good change. My body and mind quiver with anxiety. I lose sleep. Sometimes I gain weight, sometimes I lose weight. And I know we‘ve all been through a lot of changes in the past three years, so you might be going through some of these feelings, too. 

Somehow, like the seasons, I’ve moved onward. It happened so slowly I didn’t even see it. But I feel it now. 

There’s a soft, quietness inside and around me

Wrapping around me like a warm sweater

I’m ok now, it’s saying

Breathe in, smell the fresh pumpkin bread baking

Sip your tea with a happy sigh. 

Change

 

When I look in, out and around me all I see is change. Whether it’s the leaves on the trees, the election, covid case counts or new restrictions, everyday brings new information and adjustments to my daily life. 

I don’t know about you but it’s taken me a few weeks to get used to everything that’s happened around me. The election took its toll on me. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath, worried that somehow things would go sideways. And let’s face it, it’s been a bumpy ride. I might now like it, but sometimes life is like that. 

Deadlines and deliveries. 

In the studio, I’ve had a lot to do. I admit I was surprised to be firing up my kiln twice in one week to meet a deadline. I usually get my work done well in advance. I’m a planner and a list maker which I realize doesn’t fit the artist stereotype. 

But I’ve learned that clay has its own timeframe. Cooler, rainy weather means it takes longer to dry. I have to wait to paint the colors, bisque fire, add glaze and do the final firing. While I’d like to hurry the process and force the clay to dry faster, I’ve learned with porcelain, that leads to cracks, bubbles or blow ups. So I watch it, feel it and work with it knowing I’ll be glad I did. 

This time, I was working with a new clay. I wasn’t really sure how long the drying cycle would take. I would’ve liked to wait a little longer to be sure, but I had a deadline. So I had to change my work routine and timing. 

Time to learn.

In order to glaze the new dove clay ornaments, I had to come up with a way to hang them in my kiln without letting them touch each other or the kiln shelves. I ordered heat resistant wire and bent it to fold in and over my kiln posts so each ornament hung in a separate groove during the firing. I slid each ornament into the groove, turned on the kiln and crossed my fingers. 

I opened the kiln the next day and let out a sigh. It all worked out. The ornaments were glazed on both sides, still hanging from the wires and now with a lovely pearl finish. 

Peace. 

 

I let out a huge sigh of relief that day. And I realize sighs of relief have been flowing out of me for days now. I sighed after the first big storm hit and my new roof and skylights proved strong and safe. I sighed when the election results finally came in. Yes, I sighed when I opened my kiln to see dove ornaments fired and fine.  

Throughout all of these changes surrounding me, I was hopeful, scared, doubtful and finally, relieved. Now, I hope these changes will bring peace and a change to come together, listen, learn and help each other.  

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.”

Moving while Staying in Place

I’m the first to admit, these past five months created many new challenges, difficulties, sorrows and fears. As an artist, I saw my opportunities fall like bricks one by one and the bricks keep falling. As a mother, I worried for my sons, daughter and grandchildren’s health and safety. As a friend, I lost connections when I needed them most. 

There were many times, I felt my heart and soul cringe at the hard shell building around my city and country. Seeing violence and fear shatter so many lives, I found myself building a shell around myself, too. 

Creating from inside helped me out. 

With more inventory than opportunities, my head said it was time to stop making. Stop throwing. Stop building. Stop painting. But my heart cried out louder saying making, throwing, building and painting is your only hope right now. 

Creating is your only move toward light, even if everything you create has to stay home. 

It became a very slow process. I had no normal routine. I didn’t set a schedule and there was no deadline to meet. But I threw small bowls. I built new teapots and painted new birds. 

Moving closer. 

I know I’m lucky in many, many ways. I am healthy. My spouse and children and grandchildren are all fine. Even as they struggle to juggle home, work and babies. They are finding their way in this crazy covid world. 

And they are moving closer to home. This month, after 6 years away, I welcomed my daughter, son-in-law and grand-baby back to Oregon. And my son also moved closer to us. 

Now on Mondays, we have Meyer and Cieran and Colin and Caitlin and Kyle to see. Now we  get to walk with them to the park. Watch them swing. Slide down the slide. All at the same park where my now grown ‘children’ used to play. 

Learning a new pace in the same place. 

This difficult time forced me to break the shell of routine. Work away worry. Discover moving slowly is my new pace. And welcome my family home while staying in place. 

How about you? Is it possible to stand aside from the pain and fear, just a little? To look beyond these five months and see some light, movement, possibilities and maybe, some good?

Making Space

I’ve spent a lot of time during Covid cleaning. I do clean my home once a week but closets and cupboards and book shelves do gather dust. Somehow during this Covid time, I’ve found myself going from all ‘go’ to full ‘stop. Over and over. 

In March, I was determined to keep to my work schedule. Clay days. Painting days. Firing days. Errands, home and cleaning days. I look back and see it was my way of coping during a very scary time. I thought if I ran fast enough, maybe I’d out run it all. 

My way of working out. 

While every other social media post showed new ways to work out ‘at home’. I did my usual: walking the dog, yoga and throwing. But I added more to my workout schedule. 

I wiped down all my oak cabinets, doors and drawers with Murphy’s Oil soap. I treated my 12 pieces of leather furniture with conditioners. I dusted shelves and scrubbed drawers. This weekend I’ve dusted and reorganized two closets, cleared out 10 drawers, one desk and a window seat full of, yes, more drawers. 

Turning my worry into work is nothing new to me. I’ve done it all my life. I don’t do it all the time but during a time like this, I find it’s a helpful, healthful coping mechanism. It’s a work out that helps in body, mind and, yes, soul. 

Feeling refreshed and ready. 

Life is a force for change. Whether we like it at the time or not, life moves us on. Moving for me seems to always involve some cleaning and clearing. Whether it’s just to settle my energy or let go of the past to move into the future, it’s a workout that works for me. 

I’m making space in my body, mind, life and home for something new. And new things are coming. Some I know for sure and others I don’t. Either way, I feel refreshed and ready. 

And my closets are really clean. 

Goodbye Believe

Every year, I look for a word to guide me through the coming 12 months. Last year, the word of the year that appeared to me was ‘believe’. I saw it as a hopeful, helpful mantra to move me forward from a nationally chaotic year to a new faith in our democratic system. 

This year, it’s been hard to keep believing when faced with such unbelievable events around the country. More school shootings. Domestic terrorism on the rise. Leaders who turn not just a blind eye to these events but to justice and the very core of our nations constitution. 

Hope and understanding. 

Since the 2016, I can see my words have revolved around the events in our nation’s capitol. Starting with election fraud, illegal use of campaign funds, and an attack by Russia on our election system. 

So in 2017, my word was hope. I hoped for justice, reason and integrity. I didn’t get it. In 2018, I tried understanding. I tried to find a way to understand the downward spiral in the hope of shining some light into the darkening trail of events.  Again, it only got worse. 

It’s time for something more. 

Again, I don’t want to sink into the abyss of doom. Yes, I feel all the anger, fear, frustration and embarrassment these last 3-4 years have brought to our national doorstep. 

I refuse to sit and hope. I refuse to try to understand. I can no longer believe in those people with the robes, gavels, votes and power. Yes, they swore on a bible that they would uphold the constitution. Yes, they promised to help the people who voted for them. Yes, they have a legal duty to follow the letter of the law. 

But I refuse to give up on US. 

I refuse to give up on you. Or me. 

No matter what happens, I am going to move forward anyway. I am going to make my art. Love my family. Help my neighbors. And bring as much good into the world around me as I can. 

What will my word of the new decade be? I believe it needs to be stronger than the last few years because I feel I need to be stronger. I hope we will all understand that now more than ever we need to pull together, to move forward, to make ourselves, our towns and our nation stronger than ever before.

Creating and Changing.

Our world is constantly changing and so am I.  Even so, I don't always like change even when it winds up to be a very good thing. Whether change happens in a day, like wham, or over many years, it's still scary. 

I rarely see change coming or if I do, I hide under the covers of what I know to be normal. I act as if everything, and especially that thing I fear, is business as usual. When my first baby was born, I kept telling myself for nine months that this was easy, nothing would really change and I'd just pop that baby out and go right back to work. Right? Wrong. 

Like the monster under the bed, change is a giant, scary unknown.

All our life we change: babyhood to childhood to teenager to adulthood to parenthood and beyond. Some changes seem easier than others, or are they? Maybe I've just decided to remember it that way. 

When I look back on most changes, whether I wanted the change or not, it seems like a natural progression. Moving through grades in school looks easy to me now but at the time, I'm sure it wasn't. Getting my first job in radio had a few bumps looking back, but I know it was terrifying then. Breaking my wrist was a change nobody wants, but again, looking back I see how it made me more aware and focused and, yes, stronger. 

Growing stronger. 

At this time of my life, when everyone all around me is talking about aging and wrinkles and aching bones, I cringe. I want to run and hide from the fact that I am older. It's scary to even consider the possibility of my time running out.

But the fact is, death and birth are givens on this planet at this time. Sometimes death happens near birth and sometimes, with any luck, death happens many decades later. The fact is, I don't know and you don't know when it will happen. That's the real monster under everyone's bed, all the time.

I could refuse to see change, ah, denial is a wonderful tool. I could cling to my soft, comfy beliefs or bitch away in fear. But what if I see change as a chance to grow stronger. I can take what I've learned from the changes I've already gone through and use it to live better, smarter, stronger, kinder and, yes, happier. 

Breaking free to wonder.

When I took art classes in college, it was just an elective, I didn't allow myself to see it as something I really wanted to do. After my first child was born, I bought myself a sketch pad and pencils just to 'doodle'. My first studio was a drafting table in the corner of my bedroom with watercolors and now I have a studio all my own, a pottery wheel and kiln. Sometimes, change happens so slowly over time, I don't see all the creating I've done in my life. 

I've seen and done and liked and disliked many things in my life so far. I've worked for good even in groups of people who were bad. I've soldiered on in spite of the greed, hate and dishonesty around me, doing a good job, hoping I could change the situations and people around me. I've struggled to accept there are things I can't change. 

But what if I allow my knowledge of the world around me to change my choices? What if I change my views on change? What if I choose to change? What if I make choices based on love and fun and wonder and freedom?  

I wonder, at embracing living a longer life as a chance to create more life in my own life.  

I wonder what kinds of change I'd create. 

 

Rain, rain, don't go away. Again.

I live in Oregon. It rains a lot here or so people think.  But actually, rain totals here used to be about as much as the Midwest city I grew up in. The big difference is that there it really only rained in the spring and here it drizzles and sprinkles and rains almost all year round.  

Except for this year.  We've just had 90 plus days of dry, hot summer. It's not my Oregon. 

So when the rain began to fall, I could feel my body drinking it all in, washing away dust from the sidewalks and my soul. I watch the drops hit the window and slide down catching the light. The crisp, clear smell mixes with the soft patter to create a peaceful resting place. Sleeping as the rain falls is so blissfully cozy and I realize how much I need the relaxing rain. 

Now, I can get out my new clay and play. 

I had to slow down and come to a complete creative stop in August.  The hot, dry weather is not a good climate for porcelain clay. It drys too fast. It cracks. It's frustrating. I did manage to get bisque firing done on the one cooler day but again, those pieces are still sitting on the shelves, waiting. My kiln is outside, but with temperatures in the 90's, it's still too hot to do a glaze fire.

Inside my studio, I'm unpacking from a show, setting up my shelves and moving onward, hopefully. I've bought some new clay and I actually have a few new pieces drying. Another reason, I'm so grateful for the weather change. Slow, slow drying time means happy, healthy new pieces.  

Now I know the season is changing. 

I always have mixed feelings about fall. Change itself is never easy but this year as the water rains down, thunder booms and even, lightening sizzles, I am embracing this lovely shift into a new season. 

Suddenly, I can't wait to put up the leaf wreath. Trim back my lavender for drying. And cook up the last of the tomatoes. I'm sitting here sipping a chai tea and watching the last of the rain drops burst through the screen as the sky slowly shifts and lightens. 

Rain. Rain. Please, oh please, don't go away!  Not today.