Leaning into Life

If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know that life has thrown the unexpected my way. Again. It’s been time filled with grief and anxiety. Yet, even with all the changes and bureaucratic nightmares, there are moments of fun and peace. 

Right now, I’m writing by the window. Looking out at a sunny day with a slight cool breeze lifting me up. 

Fun with mud. 

This week, I got out my clay and played. I rolled and stamped. I slipped and joined. I cut new shapes with tiny cookie cutters. Voila! New flower fairies or are they flower angels? I’m not sure yet. That’s ok. What really matters is I had my hands in mud. And it was fun.

The next day, I threw some more mud. I wedged up some porcelain, sat down at my wheel and threw a few bowls. The most wonderful thing about it: I didn’t think. I didn’t worry. I didn’t have any expectations. I just slapped that clay down and the next thing I knew I had 2 bowls. When finished one will be bowl for baby Madden, like the ones I made for Meyer and Cieran. 

Life is a roller coaster. 

I’ve said this before, I know. But it’s so true. What’s also true, I hate roller coasters! And I think we’d all agree, with Covid, supply chain issues, global weather disasters and layoffs, we want off this roller coaster! Now. 

But, it doesn’t work that way, does it? 

So what can you do? Hang on and lean in. 

I’ve been hanging on with books and walks and clay. I’ve been leaning in with family and friends and furry four footers. I’m only a few weeks away from having my medical coverage, so I can lean out a little into the world, soon. 

I don’t know what is going to happen next. 

And that’s a little scary, especially after the last 3 years.

But I’m going to try something new,

Leaning in to life.  

And hoping for good things. 

Things are springing up all around. Plum blossoms. Daffodils. Tulips. With all the blooming comes wind and rain, but I am ready to embrace it all. This time of year, I’m reminded of a poem I just love by e.e. Cummings.

Here’s a small excerpt:

 in just-

spring   when the world is mud-

luscious 

and the little lame balloonman

whistles far    and wee     

and  eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it’s 

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

One thing I don’t look forward to is the time change that happens in my state. Turning the clocks ahead one hour takes me weeks of adjustment. I have a hard time falling asleep and waking up and worst of all is trying NOT to fall asleep during the day. 

Thank goodness for tea. 

I don’t know how I’d be right now without teatime in the afternoon. Oh, wait I do know. I’d be falling asleep. I’m lucky to have someone in the family who brings home luscious teas from Barnes and Noble. 

Making a fragrant cup of Earl Grey or Tower of London has become a daily ritual that really makes my day. Holding my hands around a cup of hot tea calms me. And inspires me to make more colorful and joyful teacups and mugs. 

Flowering. 

All around me, the world is bursting with new life. The geese at the park are building nests. My peonies are peeking up from the ground. Pussy willows are popping out. Playgrounds are filling with the happy sounds of little ones. 

I don’t know about you, but I need spring desperately this year. With all the fear, anger and sadness, I need some comfort, light and happiness. And I do see glimmers: virus numbers are down. Vaccinations are happening faster and faster each week. 

Spring brings not just blossoms but a glimpse of the fruits of summer. So even on a rainy, mud luscious day like today, I look out my window and see the changing light. And hope. 

It’s spring. 

Here comes the sun. 

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?

Hopeful Acts

Where is my America? After this week, I truly don’t know. I see the acts of the Senate and that man in the White House degrade our country, our protected lands, our rights, our hearts and our souls. They take millions of our tax dollars to play golf while refusing to use the funds we pay for our healthcare, education and welfare.

What’s worse is seeing the Medal of Honor given to a racist, hate-monger while the brave soldier coming home from Afghanistan gets only a hug from his wife and children. I’m angry the very obvious criminal acts by our elected leader are not only being ignored but encouraged.

I’m mad and determined to do what I can to make all of US better. Part of that, for me, means not giving in or giving up. 

Art is my best act. 

With everything that’s going on, it’s easy for me to get mired in the muck. My best way out is to throw a little dirt or clay. Believe me, wedging clay can be a real good way to get out my anger. 

Slicing into a fresh, new block of clay is always wonderful. But slapping it down, picking it up and slapping it down again and again and again is well, wonderful therapy. Rolling it out, slapping it down again and taking the rolling pin to it is soul clearing. The best part is knowing that in the end a new piece will emerge. 

My lily vases make wonderful vessels for flowers of all kinds. A beautiful sculpture to sit on a shelf or table at anytime. But the thing I love most is how they stand tall, beautiful and strong in full bloom all year round. No matter what happens around them. 

Love acts. 

Inside my bowls, words emerge. Believe, last year’s word of the year, became a big part of my bowls. Love followed close behind. I was a little worried about using red and blue on white right now. But this piece is for a friend of many years to brighten up her newly remodeled kitchen. 

This year’s word act is making its way into my work, of course. But finding a way for it to fit well into other words is proving tricky. Why? Because something as simple as Love and Act can easily get simplified and twisted. I don’t want to be seen as promoting perversion or assault.  I want Love and Act to be seen as the blessed form of communication that it truly is. 

What are Love Acts? Kindness. Listening. Accepting. Helping. Being there. Being aware. Being a place of safety for every one and every being on this planet. 

This is how I cope using my clay to send out messages of hope and encouraging acts of love. 

I Still Don’t Understand.

2017 left the land of hope into the 2018 bumpy road of understanding. Or so I hoped. And I tried to understand, really I did. But day by day the news feeds, headlines and tweets became a messy, mudslinging pile of lies, corruption and denial.

Our president pledged to uphold the constitution of our country but has shut our borders, insulted our allies, stirred a pot of hatred and fear. Other countries infiltrate our internet, which is an act of war. Racist groups grow hotter under the flame fanned by our own president.

Where, oh where is the understanding?

Right under our noses, I believe. We all know what’s going on, yet our elected officials do nothing. We know what is right. We know what is wrong. We do understand. 

Our country is corrupted. Our president is only interested in what makes him more interest(money). Our  senators and congressmen are bribed by corporations and pharmaceutical companies. Our health and education and security as citizens are the last thing on their lists. 

Still, I tried to see the possibilities. I tried to understand that the bad getting worse would cause a wake up call for our country. We as a people, instead of becoming more divided, would unite to make a better world, country and lives for all. 

I understand less and less each day. And yet, I don’t want to give up on US or give in to cynicism or anger or hopelessness. 

What new word will this 2019 new year bring?

I’m not sure, yet. All I know is I need hope and understanding to come together. I need a word to comfort me, to lighten the darkness, to see possibility that we are not a lost country on the road to destruction but a people finding our way down a rough road together.   

You Just Never Really Know.

One day, you dream of doing or making or being or creating or loving but you don’t see any way that it might work out. You don’t have the skills or the place or the equipment or the time or the opportunity. 

All you have is a dream that’s like steam on a mirror. You can see a vague form. You have a sense of presence and possibility that feels warm and inviting. But you can’t reach out and grab it. Not yet.  

Waiting is not fun. 

Patience is not my strong suit. I get so frustrated when I’m waiting for anything, anywhere, anytime. And yet, I know I can’t push time forward or backward because I am just one element, one blink of the immensity of time. Time is not mine. 

But when I see the future of an idea or a creation, I want to do it and see it now. And yet, at the same time, I know creation is not about the destination, the end point, the result. It’s about the journey. And the journey can take some crazy curves. 

Clay, my teacher. 

I love clay. It’s soft and cool and so wonderfully squishy. You can throw it and mold it and roll it. I can make it into cups, bowls, vases as well as masks, figures, flowers and faces. I can paint it and carve it and enjoy it’s pure, essential color. 

But it will not be rushed or pushed. It will only become in its own time. 

And I have learned to honor that even as I chomp at the bit of time. It’s a life long lesson in patience that is taking me a lifetime to learn. 

And that’s ok. I like all the life in and around me and I hope I get to keep living it for a long time. But since my sweet Jilly died suddenly in March, I’ve been shocked into the reality that time can stop suddenly for anyone at anytime. That fear has been chasing me lately, making me run faster and hurry. Yet at the same time, I’ve found myself holding my breath. 

But without breath, there is no life. 

And so clay, once again teaches me slowly to be here, in each roll, slab, turn of the wheel to be in each minute, each day, in each breath. That what I dreamed but never thought I could do, I can. What I thought would never happen, does. And an opportunity I’d given up on, comes to me. 

Breathe. Because you just never know. 

And that’s a good thing. 

Out of the Darkness comes Light.

As I sit here, tucked under a cozy throw,  watching my granddaughter slumber in sweet peacefulness, I wish and want and hope. 

I wish for her to live a life in a world different from the one I have lived in. A world where all people are safe and respected in body, mind and soul. A country where everyone understands that everyone has the right to live free from abuse of any kind.

I want her wonderful, brilliant mind to be embraced, encouraged and utilized. A system of education and work where her talents and dreams are seen as not just valid but invaluable. A place where work and health and life are an integrated whole for everyone. 

I hope she will never know the pain of abuse. I hope she will be seen and heard and encouraged not to just do well, but accomplish more than anyone else before her. I hope she will have the power to choose her own path, her own life, her own love based on her own guidance system with the support of a good education, healthcare and economic system that values people over product and bottom lines. 

Enough now. There’s been enough darkness. 

While she sleeps peacefully on this cozy afternoon, I read the news and shiver, not from the cold but from the darkness growing across our nation. 

I’ve lived in a very different kind of world. (Yes, #metoo) A place where power meant pain. Physical punishment was not only accepted but encouraged. Where on Fridays, the nuns would use a belt on the week’s worst child and broadcast it over the school public address system. Where little girls were to be quiet, sit still and listen more than talk.

Graduating at the height of the feminist movement, I thought now, everything will change. Finally, women will have power over their own body, mind and life. Finally, there will be no more abuse or pain or inequity. I worked and got paid more than my mother did, but there was no big change. Yet, I was encouraged by even those small steps forward. 

Forward or Backward?

It seems with every news story, we are moving backward instead. Why? I’ve been asking and asking myself that question over and over in a desperate attempt to figure out how we are now where we are in this country. 

I thought, when I was 20, that the world was changing for women in a good way. Twenty years later, I prayed that the world would finally change for my daughter in a much better way. Now, I look at my granddaughter’s sweet, sleeping face and I see that the world hasn’t changed very much at all. 

And I’m angry. No. I’m pissed. This was totally unacceptable then and even more so now.  

Here is the truth: Those patriarchal men know their time of power and evil is ending. That is what these men really fear. 

Now it’s time. Our time to see beyond this darkness. It is our time to step into the light. 

And create a different kind of world. 

Look to the horizon:

The sky is dark and the stars blink bright. 

Softy, the celestial night lights dim as the world slowly turns from night to day.

The deep black sea turns grey as light pink dabs the clouds and blue fades up. 

Birds silent in the dark, begin to speak up and the first boat jets across the waves. 

Good morning, world. 

A new day has begun.

2017 Word of the Year: Goodbye Hope.

Every year, I pick a word of the year. Last year, the word was hope. With the shocking election results and the Russian election tampering, I decided to pick myself up out of the dumps and hope. I wanted so desperately for something to go right: for Hillary to wind up in the Oval Office where she rightly belonged; for elected officials to work together for our health, wealth and wellbeing; for people to embrace change. 

Unfortunately, my hopes were completely dashed. 

Unless you've been hiding under a rock(and I must say some days, it is tempting), you know what's been happening and how far off the road we are as a country. So, I don't want to go down the road counting blessings that turned into curses. 

I not only want to but I desperately need to move on. Find another word to help me and, hopefully you in this new year. I need a word to not just light my path through this difficult and dark time in our country but be a beacon. Like a lighthouse alone on a craggy shore, I need a word to warm my heart and help me, and perhaps you, find my way home. Back to a country where kindness and understanding and good intentions work to create a country that's even bigger and better than we've ever seen. 

What will be my word for 2018? I don't know yet.   

But I do know, I just want it to end. And since the year is ending, it's seems fitting to wave goodbye to hope. 

Creating Thanks.

I don't know about you, but this last year has been filled with unthankful events. All it takes is a quick look at the daily news to get filled with anger, disappointment, embarrassment and fear. My mind reels with the ignorance and greed exhibited in government that causes such suffering for children and adults in my own neighborhood and the world. 

That's why I decided I had to do something about it. 

Now I can't personally slap a certain person's hand and take away his Twitter account, even though we'd all be better for it. But I can stop my mind from going down the sinkhole with him. And so can you. 

Right now as I write this, I'm staring out at a sky full of clouds. It's been dark and rainy but now, the clouds are moving, slowly revealing slivers of light, bright blue. It helps me remember that beneath all the muck and darkness, light exists. 

And we are all light. We are all filled with electrons, which are light bearing molecules. So even on our darkest days, when we feel all is black and lost, there is light right there inside me and you. I'm not the best at getting in touch with this, I admit. It's sometimes takes hard work to find that light but knowing it's there, helps. 

And so does slinging mud. 

Yup. There is nothing better for my soul on dark days than putting my hands in mud. I forget this over and over, so please, don't see me as enlightened. I'm just desperately in search of a way to feel better. 

My way is to create with clay. No matter how mad, sad or fearful I feel, putting my hands in clay clears out my soul. I can't explain it. And that's a good thing, because explanations are based on thinking which is using my mind and that's not a place where thankfulness resides. While I may start out in my head, my body takes over. My hands take the lead, feeling the texture of the clay, coming together to center it, pulling it up and out. Then, voila, there's a bowl in front of me instead of a lump of mud. 

Creating thanks may take a completely different form for you. It could be words or numbers or paint or flowers or flour or keys on a keyboard. It doesn't really matter where it comes from as long as you allow it to lighten up your life. 

As I've been busy on my keyboard, the sky has changed again. Like life. The blue is gone, the clouds are darkening as the day ends, but in the 'in between' there is a sliver, a space that is rosy and soft and still light. 

So right now, I'm thankful to nature for creating that small piece of light and hope outside my window.   

A Good Firing.

Firing is not my favorite part of my art-making process. I know it's because I have to give up and give in to the kiln. It's scary because even if I've done everything right: wedging, throwing, rolling, underglazing, bisque and final glazing, everything can go wrong. 

Maybe there's another reason I don't like firing. I'm officially done. It's over. The piece is out the studio, out of my hands and on its own. My studio shelves look a little empty.

When the kiln lid closes and firing starts, I'm finished whether I like it or not.

I like to finish projects. I love the feeling of accomplishment. But I struggle with that part of myself that doesn't like to let go. I always see possibilities: more color or texture or lines to add. But even though my pieces go through 2 or more kiln firings before the final glaze firing, I still put it off just in case. Oh, I know I'm procrastinating and finally, I can't stand it anymore. 

I turn on the kiln, set my timer and wait. I have an old manual kiln that was gifted to me by a very generous man. I thank him every time I load, fire and unload it. But it is getting older and will soon need new coils and some bricks fixed, which is very costly, and that adds another layer to my kiln-sitting stress. Will this be the time the kiln decides to quit on me?

I don't peek for four days. Honest. 

Why? Because I use porcelain and I've learned that opening the kiln up before my pieces have totally cooled to the surrounding temperature both in my garage and in my studio causes cracks. There is nothing sadder than putting all my heart and soul into my work only to hear the awful sounds of popping and cracking because I lacked patience. And I do lack patience most of the time, but not when it comes to kiln cooling. I keep my cool. 

This time, lifting the lid was joyful. 

I tried some new ideas in this group of bowls. I wanted a landscape feel that reminded me of the watercolors and oils I used to paint. I added more texture inside and out. The spirals and trees in the middle of the bowl feel like the drawing I used to do. I used the under glazes like watercolors creating a sky surrounding the tree landscape. 

As I opened the lid, I saw the colors were even better than I'd hoped. As I took each piece out, I examined it inside and out for cracks, glaze slips or bubbles. It looked good. Whew. 

Now, there's always a piece or two that I know have some kind of issue going in. It might be a weird bump or a slight crack, so I don't expect those pieces to be perfect. I hope for the best and sometimes, I'm happily surprised. Sometimes, not. This time, one bowl made it out better than I thought it would but it's not up to my standards, so it will go on my 'seconds' shelf.  

I'm still happy, though. Because 22 out of 23 pieces came out whole. 

It was a good firing and that's a very good thing.