Wandering, waiting and wondering.

Through the woods, I go. I lean against my two favorite trees. I look out over the water. I count the baby geese. I stare at the sky. My feet move and my mind wanders. 

During these last three months, my wandering helped me, soothed me and befriended me. I even have my best friend wandering with me. And we are not alone in these woods. There are so many joggers and bikers and hikers and dog walkers that sometimes it feels like rush hour. 

But the best sounds we hear are the giggles and shouts and running feet. Children not allowed in school or the park playground have found a new place to play. I remember my summers in the woods near my childhood home and smile with delight. One playground is closed but they have discovered another much bigger and more creative one. And it’s a joyous sound. 

Waiting. 

As a self-employed artist, I still work in my studio and at my wheel five days a week. I wedge and roll and paint and glaze. This was a ‘glazing’ week. It’s not my favorite part of the process but it’s necessary.

After sanding, wiping and waxing, each piece needs to sit overnight before glazing begins. The next morning, I need to rearrange my entire studio. I clear table tops, put tools away and take out others, lay newspapers on shelves, towels on the floor and open the windows. 

I stir and dip and wipe and repeat. Then I wait. After a day or two, I load the kiln and start the firing process. Then I wait some more. Hopefully, when I open the kiln everything inside will be bright and shiny and ready to use. 

Wondering. 

All this wandering and waiting has me wondering. When will this all end? When it does what will life look like? Will people stop looking at each with such fear? Will I hear people laugh out loud, reach out to lend a hand and a hug? Will my grandchildren think that it’s normal to wear a surgical mask everywhere?

But most important, once we are all back to our lives and going through the motions of living in a world of endless routines, will we remember how to wander? Will we forget how long we had to wait? And will those children forget the joy and the magic of their own playground in the  woods? 

Change.

I don't like change. 

When my life changes unexpectedly, I get fearful and angry.  In fact, I view change as something to avoid like a big, scary boogie man in the night.  To handle these changes, I set up systems, make lists and follow a routine.  

I also create change. 

As an artist, every time I pick up a ball of clay, roll out a slab, choose an under glaze, or pick up my paint brush, change happens.  After a piece comes off the wheel or out of the kiln, I make even more changes.  This is the work I love and why I love my work. 

Life changes all the time.

Every day with every breath, we change and the planet changes.  Seasons change.  Children change.  Work changes.  Even fun and frolic and friendships change.  Families change and this week, mine changed and expanded with the birth of my first grandchild.  This is a blessed and beautiful change. 

Change...it's a love - hate thing. 

Change is not something I can or, maybe should, control. When a change happens unexpectedly, it's scary.  When it happens willingly and creatively, like in my studio work, it's inspiring.  And, sometimes, however it happens it can bring more joy and life into your life than you could ever imagine.

Change and faith can go hand in hand, I see.  Faith in change.  That I can handle it and live with it.  Change with faith.  That I create it knowingly and lovingly.

Faith.  There's that word of the year, again.