Recovering

It’s been a crazy, difficult, wonderful and unbelievable year. On so many levels, change has happened whether I want it to or not. I’ve done my best to find my way in, around and through it all while still finding ways to create anyway. 

But sometimes, I’m forced to stop. My body had been showing me I needed rest, but I ignored it. There was just so much to do: hundreds of boxes to unpack, new rooms to redecorate and reorganize, cleaning, weeding, trimming and planting. Oh my. 

Too much stress leads to mess. 

Yup, my body was a mess. I have a chronic condition that is stress related and most of the time now, I can keep it under control. I had a harder time when my children were little understanding it and working with it but I’ve learned a lot over the years. 

I know when it’s usually going to crop up. I’m prepared with tools to help. But the biggest help is seeing it, accepting it and letting it run its course. Then it goes away in a week or two and all is well. This time around, I ignored all the signs. I pushed myself harder which created more stress and by the time I decided to listen, my usual tools weren’t enough. Finally, I went to the doctor. After suffering for months, I got a prescription and better tools which helped in a matter of days. 

Creative recovery. 

I don’t like to sit around but the window seat in the front room has a beautiful view. I can see the sky and clouds move, trees far and near, little hints of distant hills. So for a week or so, I sat. Watched the clouds move. Enjoyed the colors of the sky and distant trees. And listened to the crows talking. 

I planted flowers on my patio. Hung colored baskets of petunias. And even planted my garden which I’d thought would not get done in time, this year. I hung some art on the walls of my recovered home. In between it all, I did manage to get a few days in the studio. 

And finally, I had a weekend that felt normal, comfortable and, maybe, safe again. 

I can see faces in the clouds and trees and leaves again. 

And I look around and breathe and see, I’m home again.  

“Make some art today. And feel better.”

 

I found that quote on Pinterest last week and I took it as my marching orders: get back in the studio. Now, don’t misunderstand, I love working in clay and I love my studio. 

But for the last 11 months, my energy has been sidetracked into the reconstruction of my home. Building or rebuilding a home takes creativity, of course. Color choices, counter and floor surface decisions and cabinet designs to name a few. But alongside the design ideas are many days, weeks and months of waiting for the supplies and contractors to get the work done.

During all this, I lost access to my studio, kiln and wheel. In fact, my wheel and kiln area are still blocked. But my studio, where I do slab building and underglazing is unpacked and open. 

New clay. Hurrah!

I love clay. I, especially love new, fresh clay. Last week, I went out and bought 50 pounds of new clay, blue underglaze and clear glaze. Wow, that felt good. But what felt the best was cutting off a big square of porcelain clay back in my studio. 

As I wedged it and rolled it, I wondered how I could go 4 months without putting my hands in clay. It really is wonderful. Soft. Squishy. Smooth. 

There was a moment of fear as I got out my tools and forms. I worried I’d screw it up. Forget some important detail. I’ve been away from clay for so long, I felt blocked and scared. But, as I put my hands on the clay, I began to relax and remember. I got out my favorite lace and rolled it over the surface. Then, carefully formed it into one of my favorite things to make: a lily vase. 

Before I knew it, I’d made 2 new lily vases. 

Restored and relieved. 

There is nothing better than making something out of mud. Standing next to my table rolling out clay. Cutting it. Forming it. Feeling its edges and softening them. Pushing charms and hardware into the soft, strong surface. 

After all the fear and sadness and chaos of the last year, I found my way back to myself. Making some art out of clay today, did indeed, make me feel better. 

Anger vanished. 

Fear floated away. 

All that was with me was, me.

And clay. Hurrah!

Moving Back In

If you’ve been reading here, you’ll have heard the back story. If not, I’ll simplify it here: water damage in July led to mold, demolition, moving out, reconstruction, moving back in. 

This all sounds like a nice, straight line, right? Wrong. It’s been a long, twisting tromp through the woods of insurance adjusters, agents, construction estimators, reconstruction teams, moving teams, hotel rooms and hundreds of boxes to unpack. 

But we’re here. Now. Finally. And it only took 11 months. 

Boxed Up. 

I’ve always moved myself. I’ve packed, labeled, moved and unpacked the boxes. So having a moving company come in and do it seems like heaven, right? Kinda. 

The movers arrived and unloaded the truck starting with the big pieces: couch, tables, chairs, art work. Then came the boxes, oh my.  I did try to get the boxes in the right rooms, but with an open floor plan and over 160 boxes, stacking was the best option. 

We couldn’t see out the nook windows, but we did have space to eat. And I was able to find the coffee maker and toaster almost right away. 

Unboxing days. 

It took 10 days. Slicing open boxes marked: kitchen, dining room or living room to find paper, bubble wrapped things. Sometimes one box had one thing. Sometimes many, many small things. From paper towels and paper clips to china and crystal, we found it all.  Somethings I’d thought I’d lost and some things, I wanted to lose. 

I unpacked and washed and re-organized. With new cabinets, things didn’t fit exactly as they had before which was a good thing. It made me choose: things I wanted and use vs things I’d just had. I didn’t expect unpacking boxes would be a roller coaster ride through my past. Bringing grief and tears as well as happiness and smiles.

Living in my new/old home. 

Because of the water damage, many things needed to be reconstructed. I walked through the process of picking new cabinets, countertops, tile, flooring with many mixed feelings. My husband and I built this house 29 years ago. I carefully chose all the finishes: floors, countertops, tile and paint. Now I had to do it all over again. 

Many people were excited for me to have, they said, “A new kitchen.” But you see, I didn’t want a new kitchen because I loved what I’d chosen all those years ago. I had to face that it was gone and I had to move on. I made my new choices with crossed fingers. And after choosing tile for the kitchen island and moving out of our home, I realized it wouldn’t work. I decided on a quartz top for the island. Not everyone agreed, but now, it’s obvious it was the right choice. 

At home at last. 

This morning, I walked down the stairs, turned the corner and for the first time, I wasn’t shocked. It all felt right. I knew where everything was: coffee maker, plates, cups, silverware. And I had everything Michael needed to make his wonderful pancakes, a Sunday favorite. 

It’s been 16 days now. 

All the boxes are unpacked.

We’ve moved everything back in. 

But most important, our house is, now home. 

Finally.