Happy Samhain

 

I come from a Gaelic heritage based in and around Ireland, Scotland and Wales, yet I didn’t learn much about it growing up. I was raised in a cozy mid-west suburb where I was sent to Catholic school and church. In my school, there was no Halloween. Instead, we observed All Saints Day where we dressed up as our patron saint. 

When I got home from school, I changed into my costume and ran through the neighborhood trick or treating. I loved getting dressed up. I loved the candy. I’m glad I was allowed to have fun on Halloween. 

But I was never taught the true origin, meaning or rituals of Samhain which is the origin of Halloween. 

Spirits and Saints. 

Samhain, pronounced Sow’ in, is an ancient Celtic festival on November 1st. Because the Celtic calendar calculates the days using the Lunar calendar, the start of Samhain or All Hallows is on October 31 which is the end of the Celtic year. 

For the Celtic culture, this is a celebration of endings and beginnings. It’s a time to feast and celebrate the harvest. It’s also the Celtic festival of the dead. A day to remember lives well lived and honor spirits with bonfires, food and drink. 

The festival was changed to unite tribal culture with monotheistic religion. When Christian religion took over the Druid culture, Samhain was changed to All Hallow’s Eve or All Saints Night. 

Fire, food and faith. 

Certainly this year, of all years, makes the whole Western idea of candy and costumes seem wrong. Co-opting a culture by using stereotyped costumes can be seen as racist, sexist or worse. It could perpetuate misinformation and misunderstanding at a time when we need just the opposite. 

Yet coming together to talk, eat, laugh and celebrate may be what we need most right now. It’s getting colder outside and we need warmth inside our homes and our souls. Giving a sweet can be just a symbol of generosity by sharing food with people we know and those we don’t. It builds faith in the families surrounding us in our neighborhoods. 

If there was ever a year where we needed to come together, it’s this year. I need to find a way to end this difficult year with heart and hope and faith. 

Maybe, for me, that means making ghost cookies, carving a silly pumpkin, lighting my home with cinnamon scented candles and making a big batch of stew from the last of the season’s tomatoes. And most of all remembering the good souls who walked and lived and laughed and loved among us. 

Small Steps

I’d like to say that this week has been an amazing array of big, grand and glorious things, events, sales and opportunities. I’d like to be able to look up at the sky and twirl like that opening scene from the TV show, Mary Tyler Moore. Or sing with free abandon(and on key) like Julie Andrews in the “Sound of Music”.  

But all I can truthfully say is that I showed up and did the best I could do. All the time looking up at the sky and asking, “Is it all over, yet?”

Slapping, rolling, trimming and cutting. 

Yup, the studio works doesn’t just give me something ‘to do’ to distract me from the current events swirling around, it saves me. Energizes me. And calms me. 

Precisely trimming a teacup takes all my focus. My mind cannot wander, well, unless I want a footless cup. Or an uneven bowl bottoms. But there is no doubt one of the most therapeutic part is slapping that clay down during hand building. I don’t have a slab roller, so throwing the clay down on a canvas board with a slap is a way to wedge and shape it before I roll it out. 

These are some of the many small steps it takes to make a finished bowl, teacup, vase, bird or ornament. Many days, it feels like nothing is getting done. 

Wise words always help me. 

Especially now, when I feel lost wise words of others help me find way. Martha Beck’s words landed in my inbox to save my day. 

 

“Any action we take, at any given moment, is small; big achievements are simply accretions of many small acts. Creating a full, meaningful life doesn’t mean doing huge things. It means that we align each small step we take with our sense of what’s right. And that takes courage.”

Martha Beck’s advice, “Today, look for two or three opportunities to act in accordance with what you most value, even though it takes courage. Tomorrow, do the same thing. And every day after that. Years from now, people will tell you that you’ve done big things. You’ll know better, of course. But it will be wonderful all the same.”

I don’t know that people will tell me I’ve done big things. After all, my teacups are small. But I do know that 10 years ago, my small step was a throwing class once a week and now, I see shelves full of vases and bowls and mugs and jars and, yes, teacups. And my work is out there online and in galleries. 

So, I know that once again, Martha Beck is right when she says, “It’s amazing how big a difference we can make over time, especially when all our small actions come together.”

Simply Fall

It’s a blustery day and I love it. There is stew simmering in the slow cooker, fresh rolls rising and a cup of tea is steeping. I’m grateful to welcome this season, yes, even with COVID.

A rainy afternoon with a clean house and cup of tea. 

A kiln firing with new teacups, teapots, bowls and plates. 

A Halloween Raven wreath on my front door, a banner on the porch, a pumpkin and chrysanthemum on the porch. 

A plate of freshly baked chocolate cookies made by my husband and best friend, Michael. 

Spirits of the trees, a mask and pumpkin scented candles. 

A shape-changer sculpture and a crow made by an artist friend.

I’m grateful for all of these warm, creative, decorative, fun, tasty, scented, bright, spirited art and delicious tastes. It’s my simple way of celebrating fall. 

Quiet. Please.

As a child, these words posted in my local library brought peace. I remember reading them gave me a sense of safety and shelter and calm. And I know in my heart and soul that is exactly what I need right now. 

In July, the roof of my house was ripped off and completely replaced. We’ve lived in this home we designed for almost 30 years, so it was time for a new roof. While I looked forward to the new roof, I had no idea what it would be like to live through the transition from old to new. It was a VERY loud and messy process. 

In September, the front siding of our house was ripped off and completely replaced along with a small section on one side. After that was done, the entire house was re-painted including trim and the front door. Again, it was a loud and messy process. 

New strength. 

I love my new roof, new skylights and new vents. I love the strong, updated siding. I love the new paint color, new window trim and bright red door. But most of all, I love feeling even more securely sheltered in the home I designed and built three decades ago. 

Getting here has not been without its bumps and bruises. Siding and skylights were not in our renovating plans. But what I’m learning, especially this year, is plans change. And sometimes they change for the better. 

Creating challenge. 

With all the noise and mess and disruption, it was hard to find time, space and quiet to work in my studio or on my wheel. Glaze firing was put on hold due to air quality warnings and high outside temperatures. Yes, it was frustrating and I’ll admit scary. Because, my lifeline and connection to calm is creating. 

So I painted a new bowl and two new birds.  I re-arranged my studio. And I waited as calmly as I could, which I’ll admit included pacing, grouching and some unneeded snacking. But last week, before house painting began, I did manage to throw a few teacups. I made a new leaf platter. And this week, during the trim painting of the house, I trimmed and pull some handles. 

Balancing the see saw. 

I remember long ago, an expert described life balance, not as a balance beam, but as a see saw. It is so simple and so true. 

Life is not a straight, narrow path but a thrilling ride of quick ups and downs with short stops in the middle. Studio work helps me balance and yet, it is a constant seesaw ride: good weather for clay to dry vs (not) too hot, studio time vs marketing and selling.  

Then, of course, there is social media, politics, pandemics, forest fires, bad air quality and roofing and painting and 2020. 

 

What a see saw to live on everyday. A challenge that requires creativity and strength. And most of all, for me, a little quiet. Please. 

“Still, I rise.”

 

Again and again and again. 2020. This week my inbox and social media is crowded with messages like yours, I’m sure. We are all feeling and seeing and reeling from fires, viruses, deaths and disasters. 

One email focused on letting it all go. Jen Louden made a great point, “There’s a profound difference between surrendering to what is vs. falling into the grubby kind of “why bother? I’m learning to navigate between the two. I’m learning to feel my disappointment and heartache while dropping my stories like, I suck because __________ didn’t work or never happened.”

Inspiration and work. 

I admit, I’ve been in the ‘let it all go’ giving up phase. I also admit, I was heading for ‘why bother’ land. Louden’s email helped me feel the difference and steer myself back on the road.

I found a quote from Maya Angelou’s poem, “Still, I rise” and I read her strong, beautiful, determined words over and over. My heart ached for her pain, saw her courage and felt my own small world rise.

Her words were the inspiration for a new piece. And I delivered it to a new gallery this week. Somehow the birds I’ve been making, Maya Angelou’s wonderful poem and the gallery’s 12x12 square all came together like magic. 

Being useful to the world. 

In the wake of Ruth Beader Ginsberg’s death, an email from Maria Shriver, Sunday Paper arrived with a question of how to turn despair into action. Asking everyone, “how you can be used right now. This is not a time for despair. This is not a time to bow out or go quiet. This is a seminal moment for each of us to dig in and dig deep.”

As an artist, how can I be used right now? I throw and hand build bowls, teacups, vases and birds in clay. This is not a revolutionary thing to do. My pieces don’t shout or march or protest. 

But, I realized the other day, they do make a statement. A friend came by my studio to buy one of my red ‘cup of love’ teacups. 

In the process, she loved and bought a bowl with the words, “Believe Love”.

And smiled happily at my Caterpillar/Butterfly with the words: love, joy, true, act, brave, kind. 

So maybe in letting it all go, I steered myself into new work that helped me rise. And maybe it will help my friend and others to rise, too. 

Despite the fear, death and smoke, I can hear Maya Angelou’s wonderful, brave words: 

“Still, like dust, I’ll rise”, “Still I’ll rise”, “Still, like air, I rise”, and “I rise. I rise. I rise.”

Perfectly Overwhelmed

 

I don’t  see blue sky outside my window. I see orange fog. Smoke. And gray particulates falling through the air. Just when I was getting used to wearing a face mask, cleansing everything with sanitizer and accepting a pandemic, my part of the world started burning. 

I am scared. I worry about all the people I know in danger and their children and animals and homes. I thank the brave firefighters and responders and want them to all come home, safe. And there is nothing I can really do to help stop any of this. What can any of us really do?

All I see on social media is pictures of the smoke, orange sky, flames outside everyone’s windows. I keep reacting to each and every one the same: shocked emoji. And I’ve taken my own pictures as well, but it just seems hard to post them. 

Sharing. 

Here’s a post I did see on social media this week and I found it very helpful.

 

This is from Lisa O’ Baire:

Dear West Coast friends, if you’re feeling anxious or unsettled by our orange, smoky skies, please remember that your animal body is responding *perfectly*. 

Your nervous system is so smart. 

You’re biologically wired to feel afraid.

Your body is prepping for threat that is not yet here.

What can you do to feel more settled in this moment?

1) Self-Touch

2) Self-Talk

3) Reach Out for Connection

4) Remember Impermanence

✨Self-Touch✨

Massage your body, even if it’s *just* squeezing your own arms. Take a shower with cool water. Ask a loved one to lay on top of you or use a weighted blanket. Sitting up with your feet on the floor, ask a friend to slowly press down on the top of your feet (it works!). Take a moment to smell something lovely. Connecting to our senses is one of the quickest ways to get “unstuck” when overwhelmed.

✨Self-Talk✨

Speak aloud what you most need to hear. Pretend you’re a loving parent and speak to your younger self: “Thank you, body, for reminding me that this is a scary moment. I am safe right now. I am resilient and prepared to act, if necessary. Until then, I am completely safe — even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

✨Reach Out for Connection✨

I appreciate every picture of an orange sky on FB right now. I see it as a bid for connection. You are not alone. Write to a family member or friend who lives in another area. Ask them to send you a photo of a beautiful blue sky. Call someone who delights you! Friends are our lifelines and can help us co-regulate. It’s likely your call will make their day too. 

✨Remember Impermanence✨

Our sweet brains need help remembering there is a different (better) future ahead. In times of strife, the body’s job is to keep us alive at all costs. Chemicals flood the body to “help”, but you may find yourself frozen — or desperate to flee or fight. 

Remind yourself that this WILL end. 

This WILL shift. 

Blue skies WILL come again. 

And finally, please remember that none of this anxiety mismatch is your fault. Nervous system regulation and resiliency was not taught in school.  Self-regulation and somatic awareness are the most important skills you can gift yourselves and your children. You’re worth it. 

Thank you, Lisa for helping me understand that feeling overwhelmed right now is perfectly all right. 

A Season of Change

Hours tick tock into a day. Days flip like cards into weeks. Weeks fall into months. I’m always amazed by the amount of time passing through my life. Time feels like it happens around me instead of through me.

Lost in minutiae, I don’t see the minutes marching by me. I have to admit, I like being lost in the flow most of the time. Throwing clay on the wheel. Rolling a slab for a vase. Mixing and painting a teacup or bird. Creating is my way to be lost and found in time. 

Summer is gone and it’s September?

It’s hard to believe. Covid has turned everything upside down worldwide causing so much pain, sorrow, anger and fear. Fall is coming but not with schools starting or harvest festivals or art shows or open studios.

I remember how excited my children were to go back to school. I think of how many will not even be able to go kindergarten. They won’t be able to run into a freshly decorated classroom with their names on cubbies, new paints on easels and sharpened pencils ready to use.

Bye Bye Birthday parties and hello Birthday drive byes. 

My grandson’s 1st birthday was in late August but with Covid restrictions, a traditional birthday party was out of the question. But my lovely daughter came up with a creative way to give her baby his first birthday anyway. 

With The Hungry Caterpillar theme, we went to work making clay ornaments. 

A caterpillar made of cupcakes. 

And a flying butterfly from clay. 

Luckily, it was a nice day for an outside, drive-by party. And everyone did a great job of staying safe, enjoying cupcakes and celebrating baby Cieran’s first year on our planet (in spite of Covid).

    

Lost time. 

Six months. I can’t believe that Covid has been here that long already. I spent many days, weeks and months between denial and fear. As a self-employed person, I clung to my routine. I threw and rolled and painted and fired and glazed and fired again.

Even as my shows were cancelled and galleries closed, I filled my studio shelves with bowls, birds, vases and teacups. I did social media promotions, online craft fairs and opened an Etsy shop. I worked and waited and hoped it would all end soon. 

 A season of change. 

Yes, Covid is still here. I’m still creating and working. But I’m still worried and wondering how and when will all this end? Will my granddaughter ever get to run happily into her classroom? How can we all change and recover together?

As I leaned on Mother Cedar this morning, I felt a sliver of warm sunshine and heard a message. “Take this small slice of light and let it into your soul. Let it warm you and lift you and heal you. And give it to everyone around you.”