Silent Heroes

Silence. All around me right now, I hear the quiet of my dog stretched out on the rug. The breaths in and out as my husband sleeps in the chair. The fake fire flames quietly dancing in the light. The sun filling the space behind me.  

It is a comfort, this silence. 

In our world filled with chants and gun fire, this silence feels blessed. Like a pause before the next shocking burst of evil. Evil that must be stopped at all costs. I have marched many times in my life for peace and equal rights. I thought we’d all won. I am so mad and sad to see other’s fears kill innocent loving people. 

It is grace, this life.

I sit here heartbroken and hopeful. Terrified and tenderly listening to life with gratefulness. My husband is alive and recovering. A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the floor, begging him to open his eyes. Tapping his face in desperation while I dialed 911. 

He was just making breakfast. I was pouring juice when I felt a nudge, a tingling, an alarm. I looked up and his face was losing color as he stirred the eggs. I went over, put my hands on his upper arms and guided him down. Down to the floor, where he slumped. 

It is strength, this breath. 

They came in with calm strength and went straight to work. Oxygen brought breath back. Monitors checked the beating heart. A woman in uniform asked what happened while others revived him and asked him questions. 

Soon, we were on our way to the hospital. They talked to him in the back. I could hear him respond. They took him to emergency. I was told to go to the waiting room. Soon we were together again in a small room with beeping machines. 

It is relief, this help. 

Of course, there were tests and waiting. But he was awake, talking and getting fluids. He tested positive for RSV, this year’s flu. They found a ‘blip’ on his heart monitor and they wanted to keep him and check it out. So he stayed overnight.

I went home alone. But we texted. He had a good salmon dinner. I managed terrible microwaved eggs and cheese. I cried tears of relief. 

It is still scary, this recovery. 

But we are ok. He eats and reads and walks around the house. Each day picking up the pace and doing stairs. I take his blood pressure and he has sent in his heart monitor. He’s been to his PCP and all is going as expected when you have this flu. 

I am the one who cooks now. We’ve traded off on this task over the years due to work schedules. He’s a much better breakfast cook than I am, but I’m learning. Last year, he had to do it all for me and now, I do it all for him. We’ve always shared the home turf equally.  

It is horrible, this violence all around us. 

But it is it also wonderful, this help from strangers. 

These dedicated men and women who save lives everyday. They are the true heroes. They are true Americans. They are the ones who show us who we truly are with their compassion, courage and strength. 

Grateful

 

Looking out the window as the sun sets on this very cold day, I’m very grateful. I’m warm. I’m safe. I’m healthy. I have work to do that I love. My life and path has evolved with the help and guidance and generosity of many people. Some I know and some I don’t. 

I never forget those helpers. And this time of year, I want to let them all know just how grateful I am. 

Teachers

I’ve had great teachers and some not so great. But in each case, I learned lessons that have served me. When I was lost teenager at a new school in a new city, art found me. My art teacher encouraged me to draw and learn calligraphy. An experienced watercolor artist taught me how do soft Payne’s gray skies and gave me one of his paintings to encourage me. It hangs in my new living room. Every time I look at it, I remember his kindness to a scared 16 year old in a class full of 35 year old moms. 

My first clay classes were disasters. Forty years later, I finally found a teacher who turned that around. Literally. She took one look at how I was placing my hands on the wheel and saw the problem. I needed to throw left handed and that meant turning the wheel the opposite way. Instantly, it all felt right. Nothing flew off the wheel or fell on the ground! The clay centered and stayed and grew into a small bowl. I was amazed. 

I was told to say as a child that I was ambidextrous. But this teacher told me that was often said to children who were really left-handed at a time when being left-handed was discouraged. I’m glad I found that out and glad that I can use both hands, too. 

Helpers

I started showing my work in galleries over 20 years ago. But it was the kindness of Graystone Gallery owner, Bill Murray who got it all started and I’ll never forget it. I’d been to his gallery and loved his shows. I had taken art and sculpture classes for years and finally made some pieces out of window screening and paint. I wanted to show them in his annual mask show but I was terrified. I made an appointment, drove to his gallery with my pieces and asked. He said, “Yes”. 

Years later, I met a wonderful couple who bought one of my copper masks at Graystone. They offered me their old kiln and wheel. They weren’t using them and wanted to pass them on. Their generosity helped me learn to throw and glaze and fire all the bowls, cups, vases and figures I now make and show and sell. 

To all my teachers

All my helpers 

All the gallery owners, studio visitors, neighbors, friends and family

Your teaching, help, support, generosity, kindness and love have turned my life into a creative journey I could never have dreamed possible. 

I am grateful. Forever.