So far this year, I've been at my wheel 2 days, totalling about 5 hours. In that time I've thrown a dozen cups and 5 bowls, none of them matching and mostly thrown just to shake the dust off my throwing chops.
Most of my time's been spent cleaning and organizing my studio and "fixin' to" get to work as some of us say here in Nashville. But 2 short days doesn't equal "Back at it!"
Then it snowed. Yes. Yes. I know...many say we Southerners don't know how to handle snow. But I think we do, actually. We stay inside. We close businesses and schools. Since everything's cancelled, we watch movies. We make comfort food and eat it. We write blog posts. It's kind of fun. We don't need a lot of snow for this kind of behavior to kick in...but 8" is an event in my little universe and a bit exciting.
Yesterday, a mere 24 hours after the snow had landed and the Netfilx stream was way-clogged with viewers, the thrill was gone. I heard myself utter - "Remember grass?"
Cabin fever had set in. I kept wandering over to the door that leads to my deck and staring out at the mountains of white that weren't going anywhere given that the temperature was not even 30. I watched a bird or two stop by the snow filled feeder and give me that look.
You see, the birds and I have an agreement. I put out a feeder, fill it with food. They eat. The bird show begins. We kind of shook on it. But I'm a winter wimp.
It's 8 ft. from the door to the birdfeeder. I still would have needed boots, gloves, hat, scarf, long j's, and coat for the trek. But I froze. My brain kept repeating "cold" and "wet" and "Netflix."
So change of plan. Instead of bundling up, I just opened the door and flung the seed as far as I could onto the deck rails, the deck floor and the pots all foamy with snow.
The birds came. The show began.
I got out my camera, instead of my phone. Everything started getting my attention - the trees, the birds, the swells of snow drifts. I relaxed. Muse to the rescue, I started to remember the color green.
I have to admit, it's kind of nice to enjoy a little slow down sometimes. I get reminded in those moments of that constant creative stream that's always flowing, whatever the temperature or humidity. No need to panic.
For me, stillness and quiet are strangely good for listening and watching, for organizing and cleaning out the studio of ideas and inspiration. That's as important as being at the wheel.
As I write this the sun is out. My street is slushy now and will likely ice over again tonight. But I'm prepared to brave it tomorrow, predicted to be 50.
The birds and I are good. I'm ready to get dirty.
Wish me 6 hours!