By fromskilledhands (
April 26, 2010 at 6:48 pm)
· Filed under Musings
It seems to me that, as we go about our lives, we are all works in process. We try this and that, some things more successful than others. Some things are concrete, like, say, exercising or flossing regularly; others, like being more compassionate and kind, just are.
In the studio, works in process manifest differently. Here are a few:
Works in process are all around us; we just need to take the time to look.
By fromskilledhands (
April 10, 2010 at 9:07 pm)
· Filed under Musings
A year or so ago, I posted this video; 50 people in New York were asked what they wished would happen by the end of the day. It’s an interesting question, I think. What do you wish would happen by the end of the day?
When 6 of the 8 tiles I had painstakingly carved cracked in the bisque kiln, I was somewhat disappointed. I had expected to have them ready for the holidays. The patterns were wonderful; yet the cracks were certain to migrate through the pieces. I left them on my work table, wondering what to do.
An artist friend came into the studio, and we talked about the pieces that were less than perfect. What is it, I wondered, that makes an item a “second.” Could I embrace the crack as the nature of that particular piece?.
I began to think about the whole concept of perfection. We look at ourselves and question our hair, or our eyes or our body types. We look at our homes or our jobs or our families and compare them with what the dominant culture tells us is perfect.
Nature does not determine that an oak tree or a rock or a lake is less than perfect. Why do we as humans tend to put conditions on our environments, our relationships, our lives?
When Amish women make a quilt they intentionally make a mistake; mid-Eastern rug makers do the same. Only the gods are perfect. A finger mark or tiny crack on a hand-crafted piece is really the mark of the craftsman. It lets us know that the piece was made by a human, with all our imperfections, rather that a machine.
The mark of the craftsman does not detract from the beauty of the piece; rather, it enhances it, I think. And it is the challenges and experiences in life that give our lives texture and richness.
It is, I believe, time to let go of our notions of perfection, and embrace that which makes us human. Keeping that in mind, I wish us all an imperfect holiday.
These skilled hands wish you kind, happy, healthy, loving and peaceful days.
“September is an odd month. No longer summer, not truly fall, it is both a beginning and an end. Like March, or even April, it is transitional, but with the wry knowledge of experience replacing the hope of future desire. This is a thirty-day period of contradiction and irony. In some ways, that makes September the most interesting month of all. The trees are beginning to turn, yet summer’s flowers bloom. The days are warm with slowing down; the nights are cool with lengthening. The sun is tilting his head away. September is the first reminder that the calendar year is maturing.”
The sky, punctuated by a few soft clouds, is that infinite shade of azure that is so familiar to those in NE Ohio, . Geese honk their way south; the chickens are beginning to molt, giving us more compost than eggs. Purple asters sway next to goldenrod, and the leaves have begun their descent to the ground.
As I harvest tomatoes, chard, kale, beets and the last straggling beans from the garden, I also notice flowers that have gone to seed juxtaposed against new blooms. Beginnings and endings. To everything there is a season.
By fromskilledhands (
August 19, 2009 at 9:13 pm)
· Filed under Musings, Musings
I think that blogging is kind of like today’s version of talking over the backyard fence. We sit with a cuppa and tappity tap our thoughts to our cyber neighbors. And when we have nothing much to say, we leave a stone (o) to let them know that we stopped by.
So, if you’ve stopped by, leave a comment, or, at least let me know you were here. I’ll raise my cuppa to you.
By fromskilledhands (
July 31, 2009 at 9:40 am)
· Filed under Musings, summer camp
There is something about a rainy mid-summer’s morning that reminds me of the summer of my 10th year. The rain on our metal roof and the cool air invite me to stay in bed just a little longer. The birds’ singing, a promise of the rain’s ending and the heat and humidity to come.
When I was 10, I spent 2 weeks at a summer camp. A rustic summer camp that was run by a man they called Doc. I remember a tall man who wore tan and olive drab T-shirts. A man who was never without his whistle which hung on a lanyard around his neck. A man who had spent many years in the Marines. As a drill sargeant. Running a summer camp for kids.
I remember musty cabins with rickety bunk beds and funky green blankets. I remember the craft cabin with it’s requisite stock of popsicle sticks, plastic lanyard material and little wooden beads; campfires, canoeing on the Cuyahoga River, and eating Turkish Taffy. I remember some of Doc’s staff: the guy who was a burned out Vietnam vet who liked to show us his knife; a another young man—his face blurry but his gentle and conscientious nature still in my mind. And then I remember Freddie. Freddie was a stout fellow; he was well liked because of his sense of humor. But Freddie liked to spank the girls. I thought he was creepy (he was!) so I kept my distance.
One night there was a rumor that the bikers in town were going to “attack camp.” After thoroughly scaring the campers, Doc rounded up the girls and younger boys and locked us in the craft cabin—with a padlock — on the outside of the door. Then he positioned the male counselors and older boys in trees with BB guns. I don’t remember the bikers coming but I have never forgotten the crazed look in the camp director’s eyes. What a strange place it was!
I’m not sure how my usually over-cautious father ever found this place, or why my parents thought this was “the place.” For my 10 year old self, it was a million miles from home.
I recently found the camp’s website and discovered that it is now a canoe livery along the Cuyahoga River. I emailed the contact person and was told that much of the camp has degraded into the woods. The mess hall and the craft cabin are still standing. Not much demand for a rustic camp any more, I guess. I’m half inclined to take a drive out there to see if the driveway into the place is as long and dusty as I remember, to see the remnants of the cabins and the buildings that are still standing. I wonder if I’d hear the faint voices of other 10 year olds singing Kumbaya…. I wonder…
By fromskilledhands (
June 3, 2009 at 10:22 pm)
· Filed under Musings, Musings
It’s been cold and rainy here in the Valley these past few days. Not exactly seasonal for early June. I made a pot of soup last night. Also atypical for June. It reminded me of a date I had many many years ago. We went to a restaurant, and I asked the server what the soup of the day was. “Lethal soup,” she reported. “Lethal soup?!?!?” I asked. “Yes,” she responded. “You know, with those little round flat lethals.” I guess it’s something you only eat once.
It is spring in my town, the Village of Peninsula, population 601. The beauty of spring is attended by the things that have waited all winter long.
Gardens need preparation and planting; trees that fell victim to winter and early spring’s storms and high winds have to be cleaned up. Lawns need to be mowed. Dandelions and violets dot the yard and field, their bright yellow and purple blossoms bring sunshine on this cloudy morning. The chickens will be happy; dandelions and other weeds from the gardens go into a bucket to be taken to the chicken yard.
The Village is busting with energy. People emerging from the cocoons of their houses, glad to be out. Spring Stroll will be May 23, with activities and exhibits throughout the Village. Many folks are featuring fairy houses this year. I have a collection of materials ready to create these tiny magical environments. Check back for photos.
What’s new in your neck of the woods? Post a comment on one of this week’s posts, and I will enter your name into another high tech drawing (where I draw names from a hat). You will have a chance to win a wonderful book that has amazing pictures of the Cuyahoga Valley.
**As always, My Town Monday is brought to you by the chief cook, bottle washer and fisherman, Travis Erwin. Travis has, literally, gone fishing this week. The talented Erica Orloff is guest blogging atTravis’ place this week. Check out the links. You’ll travel all over this fine blue planet we call home. **
I am sitting in a coffee shop, waiting while Winston (the wonder dog) is at the vet having surgery for a mass on his gum. The vet said that he didn’t feel good about this. If you are so inclined, send good thoughts our way. DOGGIE UPDATE: Winston is fine! He had a cyst or a tumor that the vet think got infected. So it has been removed, his teeth cleaned, and he should have sweet doggie breath.
We went for a walk in the woods last night. It had been raining on and off all day, and the air smelled like spring rain and fertile soil. There was the quiet coolness that follows a rain, with the only sounds the birds and the dogs playing in the woods.
We ran into my father-in-law and his dog. They slowly made their way through the woods, stopping to look at this and that, and to clear sticks from the trails. The May apples were up, groups of them like families at a reunion. Jacks in the pulpit were all along the trails. Fiddleheads emerged from winter’s sleep.
It’s a good thing to take time to look at things; you see things you’ve not seen before, and things you have seen in a different way. Take a deep breath and take a walk. Let your senses explore the explosion of beauty that surrounds you. Let me know what it’s like.
Somehow it seems rather fitting that this is my 200th post. I have so much for which to be grateful, and my awareness is acute on this day.
It is Spring. The birds singing; the quality of the light; buds swelling on the old apple tree outside my kitchen window—-all these things are reminders that there is a cyclical nature to our lives and the lives around us. The goldfinches are sporting yellow feathers; each breeding male hoping each female will see his coat as the one for her. The cats are losing their winter coats and bulk. This was a long winter, and they needed it all.
The chickens. Bless the chickens and the eggs they are giving us, and the manure that will help our garden grow. I am grateful for their clucks and sounds that let me know they are there.
Two of the dogs have had their Spring grooming. No more winter dirty dog smell. Lily the Toy Poodle will be next—when the weather warms up a bit. Lily is really a farm dog. She has no idea she is small, tipping the scales at 8 pounds. She has herded the chickens and taken on the cats.Then she curls up in a little ball and goes to sleep.
And #1 daughter has been home this week, gracing our lives with her presence. It has been a good week, full of conversation and relaxation. We’ll be leaving for the airport soon. It is a bittersweet time for both of us.
Seeing my children grow and spread their wings reminds me that we, as parents, are really gardeners. We create as rich an environment as we can, providing love and care. We place the seedlings in what we hope is the best place, letting them harden off before we put them outside to grow on their own. We do the very best we can with the tools and information we have at any given time. But we don’t make them grow. They do that all by themselves. It is an amazing process to share. And for that, too, I am grateful.
Over at third-story window, ds eloquently writes about September:
I think that blogging is kind of like today’s version of talking over the backyard fence. We sit with a cuppa and tappity tap our thoughts to our cyber neighbors. And when we have nothing much to say, we leave a stone (o) to let them know that we stopped by.
I remember musty cabins with rickety bunk beds and funky green blankets. I remember the craft cabin with it’s requisite stock of popsicle sticks, plastic lanyard material and little wooden beads; campfires, canoeing on the Cuyahoga River, and eating Turkish Taffy. I remember some of Doc’s staff: the guy who was a burned out Vietnam vet who liked to show us his knife; a another young man—his face blurry but his gentle and conscientious nature still in my mind. And then I remember Freddie. Freddie was a stout fellow; he was well liked because of his sense of humor. But Freddie liked to spank the girls. I thought he was creepy (he was!) so I kept my distance.
It is spring in my town, the Village of Peninsula, population 601. The beauty of spring is attended by the things that have waited all winter long.
We went for a walk in the woods last night. It had been raining on and off all day, and the air smelled like spring rain and fertile soil. There was the quiet coolness that follows a rain, with the only sounds the birds and the dogs playing in the woods.
![[Bloglines]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/bloglines.png)
![[del.icio.us]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/delicious.png)
![[Digg]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/digg.png)
![[Facebook]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/facebook.png)
![[Google]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/google.png)
![[kirtsy]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/kirtsy.png)
![[LinkedIn]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/linkedin.png)
![[Reddit]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/reddit.png)
![[Squidoo]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/squidoo.png)
![[StumbleUpon]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/stumbleupon.png)
![[Technorati]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/technorati.png)
![[Twitter]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/twitter.png)
![[Yahoo!]](http://fromskilledhands.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/yahoo.png)