It's Personal

Tonight we made our last journey through the swiftly shifting springtime-green turning summer-gold hills, on our way home from Adam's last track meet.  I know I have posted a lot about these meets, but there is something sort of sad and sweet about the whole thing, and it steps me away from my daily chores of cooking and laundry, and makes me sit still and focus very hard on just one thing; this child.  Even if only for a few seconds.

Adam is the first of our 3 oldest, very introverted children to step out of the shadows for the sake of a thrill, despite the necessary annoyance of a crowd.  A few years back he told us that he doesn't actually like running...he likes winning!  I was blown away by the news.  Who would work for all of those hours, week-in and week-out, for that chance, at the risk of a fall, injury and a tenth-of-a-second defeat?  I have rolled it around in my mind a dozen ways, but it still doesn't compute.

In fact, there is one aspect that I have never understood about runners, or anyone who competes in a sport where one tenth - or one one-hundredth, no less - of a second could mean the difference between success and the loss of a dream.  When I make art, I spend as much time as I need, as much as it takes, to get the end result that I want (or until I'm sick of it and hide it in a cupboard).  In some cases (embarrassingly) that has taken years.  But once the art is done, I know... I KNOW... exactly what I am getting.  Even when I sing in front of an audience, I get about 3 minutes to try to squeak out my best effort.  If it were up to a dozen or so seconds of my performance, right next to 7 other singers singing their hearts out... well, my comparison is falling apart here, but you get the idea.  Imagine, everything you care about, all that you've worked for, coming down to a few moments in time.

This race, though, was different.  It was .18 seconds different, but not in the way that wins any medals.  As Adam crossed the finish line in 6th place, passing a boy who, were it not for the fact that he lay on the ground, would have pushed Adam to 7th, my usual chant of "Go son!  First place!" was replaced with "Not last!  Please not last!"  He crossed the finish with two others in tow, and then turned to look at the timing board. 

"Hands in the air!"  Ellie cheered, "That means he PR-ed!"

Translation:  Adam has two moves after he crosses the finish line.  The first is his reaction to his placing, smiles, maybe a jump or a high-five, perhaps a head hung low.  The second is reserved for the special moment when he sees that he has achieved his PR, his Personal Record, the very best he has ever done.

And tonight, that was 16.77 seconds.

And he is joyful

and proud, 

and we are so happy for him.

Because you can't be disappointed when you have done

 your hands-in-the-air, 

very best.

And the bottom line is, out of all the kids at 43 schools from 20 counties, 

my kid was SIXTH.

That means, in the zombie apocalypse,

 Adam will DEFINITELY be just fine.  

*****

(Ellie made Adam a cookie bouquet, 

because that is what awesome sisters do

for a brother who could outrun a zombie horde.)

All the best reasons

What is most important?

Where does the true value in our lives lie?

What is the first look your kids see on your face in the morning?

What are the first words they hear?

When you climb into your weary bed at the end of the day, 

do you wish that you had done more dishes?  

More paper work? 

Are you proud of how you have lived the last 24 hours?

Someone asked me these questions this week.

I didn't like my answers.

******

Tomorrow morning is a new opportunity to make better choices.

And with faces like those to look into, 

who couldn't try a little harder?

Seconds

Two weeks ago was ArtTrails.  It is an annual art event in Sonoma County that Guy and I make a pilgrimage trip for each year, and have never missed since we began going when Ethan was just a toddler.  Some of the artists have watched out family grow up as we return year after year.  This year we took Kathy and Wayne with us, dumping sundry children at various locations along our way for tending (thank you Krista and Joanna!), and headed for the rolling amber hills and sunset colored leaves of Sebastopol.

Our first stop has become an important one.  Talented potters Cheryl and Mikio of Nichibei Pottery have created a tiny haven there, and we are welcomed with hugs and smiles.  This year was no exception, as we toted little Natalie in to show off to Cheryl, who was just a little bit surprised at #6 and more than happy to love on her.  I will admit, though, we come here first for more than the sweet greeting; Cheryl and Mikio set out a "seconds" table.  But if you want to take advantage of the deals to be found there, you have to be an early bird.  Wait even a few hours, and the table will be picked clean.  We love their art, but as their work is so skillfully and beautifully made by two master potters, we cannot afford most of it at regular price.

We also planned on meeting our dear Francine there.  She had plans for the rest of her day, but as we have done at other times when we knew a long visit was not in the stars for that day, we met, however briefly, for a few hugs and a quick visit at Nichibei.

Francine and I wandered over to the seconds table, arm in arm.  We marveled at what made something a "second" here, as every single piece on the table was so much better than anything I could produce on my gloriously-best-pottery day.  A tiny chip on the foot, a pock mark in the glaze, a glaze that simply had failed to accomplish what its makers had hoped it would, and it was banished from the lovely studio gallery, with golden lighting and music playing, and relegated to the tired wooden table out by the kiln.  I spotted the pot I wanted right away, a tall green vase with a proper pot belly, a delicate foot below and a lovely beige rim...oh, and a flaw.  On this pot, it was four or five bumps, right on the front, where some other piece must have shifted in the kiln and touched the surface, breaking the uniform mat glaze with unwelcome texture.

I picked it up and hugged it.

I was amazed that something so beautiful had the misfortune of such marring, and pondered on the frustration it must have been when Cheryl opened the kiln with hopes of lovely pots, only to find this one in such a disappointing state.  I felt a pang of familiar disappointment in myself.

I had been feeling inadequate lately; broken, chipped, marred... flawed.  I see my housekeeping, my body, my to-do list (which is really a "to-be-improved-upon" list), and feel ever so much like one of those empty vessels, not having lived up to my own hopes.  I know there has been a lot in our lives the last 9 months that would certainly justify a lackluster performance on my part, but ever since the clots, and now losing Steph and Kristi (another friend who died suddenly the same day Steph did), I have felt an urgency to make major strides toward important goals, but falling short.

"I would be on God's 'seconds' table," I told Francine with a giggle to cover the little ache inside.

"Well, you'd have plenty of company!" Francine sang out with a sort of childlike laugh.  And I knew she was right.  Not a soul on the planet would be in the gallery under the glistening lights.  We would all, every single one of us, be on the seconds table.  I pictured a massive table top, a continent long, with millions of tiny people standing on it with little discount price tags on our heads.

And in an instant, there it was.  Freedom.

Freedom to be flawed,
permission to try harder without being ashamed of past failures,
and company
-lots and lots of company-
 there on the tabletop.

"And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.

Then the Lord came to me, saying,

O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the Lord.  Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel."

~Jeremiah 18: 4-6

Layers of More



Natalie's first park day with our TJ Ed homeschool group

 Things are slowly returning

 to familiar patterns, including my insomniatic nights. 

 

It is in those early hours when I tread the line between mortal mind and Zen; that I skirt the edge of life's mysteries, believing I have almost brought the lens of some great cosmic camera into focus.

 

Last night in the wee hours I stood at a mental crossroads.  That is what happens when you look back at the bullet you dodged, stuck in the wall.  You start to wonder if, had that bullet reached it's mark, you would be satisfied with the chapters of the book of your life you had written up to that point.

 

Of course, for me, the answer to that is a resounding "heck no". 

Would you be happy with your mark on the world if you stepped off of it today?

 

As I thought about the opportunity that lay before me,

a word came to me over and over again;

 

More.

 

More helpful.  More caring.  More honest.  More generous.  More genuine.

More... of everything good.

 

I want to spend more time with my kids, reading to them,

 doing crafts, laughing, playing.

 

More

time supporting my friends; helping them, reflecting back to them

 all the good that I see in them, so they never doubt it.

 

More

time reading the words of men and women who have walked a godly path;

scriptures, classics, talks and seminars (and even blogs... love this one).

 

More

art, music, and writing...

I will leave little of significant value behind on this planet.

 I have no wealth, but can pepper my children's lives with lovely things.

 

I want to learn to give More;

more

approval, acceptance, respect, honor.

The people in my life deserve the best I have to give.

 

I know its dangerous talking like this. 

 It would be easy to take on too much, to tackle more than I can truly manage,

 and then to fall apart in a tearful heap of utter failure.

But I can start with one little layer at a time. 

I think, in fact, that is the only way I will succeed. 

I can't do more of everything everyday,

but I can add just a little layer here and there,

 one day or week at a time.

 

I managed to say yes to taking the kids to the pool today

 (yesterday I said yes to just sprinklers; ask them- vast improvement!),

and Guy and I started reading The Great Gatsby together

 (move over, Better Homes Magazine!).

I started back to reading Catching Fire to Addy-Boy,

(sometimes more means trying again)

 and I babysat today for someone who needed it

(my first chance to offer service after having received so much).

 

It's a beginning. 

And tomorrow I will add only what I can,

not everything

just some things,

 a little layer of more at a time.

 

Cocoon

(The painting I didn't take to the gallery)

There is a perfect storm brewing right now.  So much is happening, that to stop and write would be to miss something.  There are changes happening all around me and in me, and it feels like swimming fast, you have just a flash to catch your breath and your face goes back under the water again.  It's all business.

Last week I completed and fine tuned several paintings, chose one and built the frame for it, typed up an application and in the eleventh hour drove to a gallery.  The gallery owner asked if I was there to submit for the big exhibit, so I handed him my painting.  "Oh, wow..." he smiled as he took it.  Needless to say, I was tickled.  There is no better compliment to me than that first reaction to one of my paintings.  I handed him my application, walked around for a bit, then headed home.  It is always strange leaving a painting.  Like leaving a very quiet child.  Back in the car, I realized I hadn't even taken a picture of it.  I drove home smiling.

Then I waited.

Yesterday the news came.  I have been accepted into a jury selected exhibit to be shown in Downtown Sacramento at the Kennedy Gallery.  I have to paint 25, 8x8 inch paintings.  I have three done, so that takes off a little pressure.  The show is the first of May.  There is a lot to get done.

But believe it or not, this is not the biggest thing happening for me right now, though it really feels like a representation of what is happening.  I feel like I am that caterpillar deep under a layer of silk, or a seed hidden by the earth.  There is so much happening right now beneath the surface.  I am not quite ready to pop out and show the world all the changes, and they wouldn't be that obvious at first look if I did, but things are changing.

Things are definitely changing.

Softer Focus

Ellen told me a story the other day.

A woman she knew was sleeping one night when her house caught fire.  She ran from room to room in her house, gathering her five children and getting them out of the house safely, all the while oblivious to the fact she had gone to bed nude.  As she stood on the neighbor's lawn, her five babies gathered safely around her, she watched in horror as her house was engulfed in flames, looking on as everything she owned was eaten by the fire.  In that moment, a firefighter approached her and offered her his long coat.  And in that moment she discovered that she, indeed, 

was not covered.

She hurriedly accepted the coat as a rush of embarrassment overcame her.  So great was her shame that she retreated to the emergency vehicle with her children, keeping her eyes downcast.  Consumed by her shame, she no longer thought of all that she was losing, but focused on avoiding eye contact with the firefighters.

I can't stop thinking about that story.  How could someone's focus be shifted so instantly from something that was literally all consuming, to something that truly, in the grander scheme, did not really matter?  

I have been examining my life trying to see where my focus is. 

Is it where it should be?  

Is my house on fire while I fret over my naked insecurities?

As I played with Tessa's picture in the photo editor tonight, I cropped out everything that wasn't her sweet face.  I brought out the light that was already there, and then, last of all, I softened my focus, so that what really matters 

is what I can see most clearly.