Thank you 2025 Word of the Year: Thrive

 

I’ve had a hell of a few years from 2022 to 2025. Here’s a recap:

2022 - 4th of July flood in my house, damage took a year to repair. 

2023 - My husband got laid off. We lost income and health insurance. It took 6 months for me to get Social Security and Medicare. 

2024 - The year of Misdiagnosed Illness that ended in major surgery to repair. 

2025 - Recovery from surgery both physical and emotional. Didn’t know about PTSD

But I’m here. I survived. And that’s why I picked Thrive as last years word of the year. 

Because I wanted and needed and hoped, now I’d be able to Thrive, not just survive.   

And I did. 

It wasn’t easy or fun. There was still pain and physical limits. And after I worked my way through all that, I got hit upside the head with trauma. Now, I’d had surgery before: 2 C sections, 1 broken wrist, 1 skin cancer removal. But none of them hit me like this surgery did. Every little twinge sent me into the fear zone. 

And I understand it now, thanks to support from others who’ve been through it. And books about it. And, most importantly, thank you, my  Substack friends who have been down this rough road ahead of me and were here to shine a light for me to see by.  

Art as therapy. Throwing is out. 

After the surgery, I couldn’t do my art the same way anymore. I used to love throwing clay on the wheel. But it uses my abdominals and it was very uncomfortable. I had to let it go and move on. Honestly, now I know, it was time anyway.

I was gifted a wheel and kiln from a wonderfully supportive couple decades ago. They loved my copper work, saw my clay work and gave me a huge gift. I was a failure at throwing in high school. (Cue embarrassing clay incident: clay sailing off wheel and hitting the wall behind me. WTF) Yeah. I went back to ‘school’ and learned to throw. I even sold it at shows and galleries. 

But I’m not a production potter. What I truly love is sculpture and faces and masks. And over the months, my surgery recovery led me back to where I’d began. I didn’t realize it at first. I was just ‘goofing’ around and trying to do whatever my body would allow. 

Relief.

It all started with doodling. When I was still unable to do much, I was gifted with a set of sparkle gel pens and a drawing pad. Some days, all I could do was doodle. Maybe swish some watercolor paints around. And crochet. 

But I worked my way back to my studio. I had a little clay left, so I rolled it out and played around. Here’s what found me: drawings and watercolors coming to life in clay. What a weird idea, right? 

I made one, then another and another. 

Then a face appeared. It sat on the shelf, alone. Until one day, I looked up at the sunflowers in my kitchen and got an idea. 

Soon, in addition to the sunflower, a poppy, gingko and oak leave reliefs appeared. 

I’m not sure how or where I’m going to be able to show them. But I’m hoping  somewhere, somehow, someone will help make it happen. 

That these new pieces, along with me, will thrive. 

Sanity Stockings

 

Stitching my way to peace.

It’s been almost a year since my major surgery. A surgery I didn’t know was coming, saved my life. I’m grateful. Before I got the surgery I was bounced from one Urgent Care to another with no diagnosis. I was even told by one doctor, “You remind of my mother. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Yeah. After 9 months, a CT scan proved something was really wrong. I thank the surgeon and nurses who really helped me both physically and emotionally. (If you want the whole story, read my first Substack/blog “Easily Dismissed”.)

Crocheting comfort.

Recovery from major surgery is not easy for anyone. I’m not a very patient, patient. I had to have something to do. So I started crocheting hats and scarves. I’d made more than enough for family and friends, then I thought I’d donate some to a local shelter for women and children. When I dropped them off, they asked if I was part of a group because they’d really love some Christmas stockings. About 40. 

I said, I’d see what I could do.

Stocking up or down. 

I’ve never made a crochet Christmas stocking. So I searched the internet and found several patterns. I tried one that is crocheted from top down which means the heel and toe are done last. It was single crochet which is easy but boring. And I hated doing the heel and toe at the end.

Then I found a stocking pattern that went from the toe and heel up. It used a ribbing stitch I’d never done and gave me a new challenge. Plus I got the tricky bit done first and the rest was the fun ribbed stitch.

Recovering peace and connection. 

Months went by and I had happily stitched my way through most of my yarn stash making ribbed stockings. I picked up some great buys when a local yarn store closed but I started getting a little bored with red and white and teal green.  

I’d made quite a few stockings by this point, but I doubted I could make them all on my own. And I’d recovered enough to venture beyond my home turf. That’s when I found a new event at my local library: a fiber meet up! 

It was a lovely mixed group of fiber enthusiasts: a quilter, a weaver and, yes, knitters and crocheters! There was even a big bin of free/donated yarn! Colors like hot pink, blue, yellow and mixed. Oh my. 

Here’s a quote from Martha Beck that inspired me: “Like crazy quilting, “sanity quilting” involves stitching together a life out of things you love in order to stay peaceful, calm, inspired, and sane. “

Then I needed to stay calm

And recover my strength and spirit

Now I’m inspired and peaceful

And staying sane

One stocking at a time.

Branching Out

 

All around me are signs of new life. The branches on my Camellia are filling with bright red flowers. There are new buds on my hydrangeas. And walking with my grandson, he pointed out daffodils, hyacinth and crocus blooms around the neighborhood. 

Inside, my Lily vases are filled with pussy willows and pink tulips. I love making my Lily vases but I also love seeing them bloom with all the different colors of the seasons from fall leaves to summer roses. 

Signs of Life. 

Since my major surgery, I’ve had a lot of difficult days. I expected the physical pain but what I didn’t expect was emotional pain. As my body healed, I got stronger and my mind cleared. But the emotions that bubbled to the surface were unexpected and upsetting. What I’ve come to find out, thanks to helpful friends who have gone through difficult surgeries, is that this is another phase of healing. 

As one new friend put it, “I just kept saying to myself, I’m alive. I didn’t die.”

So now, when the trauma hits me, I tell myself, “I’m alive.” And I look around me for other signs of life. Little leaves on my rose bushes and buds on the hydrangeas and daffodils. 

My clay is growing too. 

In the last few weeks, new growth is happening in my studio. Sparked by an idea I saw on Substack about growth patterns, I got out my clay. The words, branching out kept coming back to me. As I wedged and slapped and rolled the clay, I just let my hands lead me to form a circle. 

I pressed my favorite textures in and around it. Rolled out some coils and added them to the circle. Some fit and some didn’t but I know that’s ok, it’s all part of the process. The first one didn’t turn out exactly how I thought it would. But, again, that’s ok. 

The second one, I thought I had more of a plan based on a picture I saw. But again, my fingers lead the way and another circle appeared with what looked to me like flowers and limbs but then morphed into something like a Celtic knot motif. 

Another day, I looked around me studio and saw a watercolor painting of flowers I did whenI couldn’t do clay because I was recovering from surgery. I wondered. What would it look like in clay? Could I even do it? And why would I? Well, again, my hands got busy and something new did emerge from the clay. 

I guess my hands knew what my head didn’t, yet. 

I’m not dead. 

I’m alive. 

And like everything else around me, I’m branching out.