Dandelyon's Worlds

It should cross-post, but in case it doesn't, here's a link: http://wyld-dandelyon.dreamwidth.org/247348.html

Happy New Year everybody!

I sit here drinking tea from the teapot my daughter made, pulling and turning clay with her own hands, learning in college a truth that artists need to hold dear, that the process is so important, if the process doesn’t enrich the artist the finished product doesn’t either. If the finished product ever comes to exist, that is.



I don’t, of course, mean that there’s no work in producing art—there’s a lot of it, sweat and frustration and sometimes just sheer slogging forward. But there’s more, though it’s really hard to pin it down and describe it, especially when you’re slogging. And that *more* is valuable and necessary.

It being January, I’m also thinking over the past year, which was full of slogging. I didn’t accomplish anywhere near as much as I’d planned, though I was busy with necessary things almost every day. There were just so many of them! I had been feeling bad about that as I pulled into Windycon, but then a friend asked about my year and I talked and talked and talked, finally walking away feeling like I’d overstayed my welcome (though she assured me I hadn’t).  Afterward, I realized how many things I had done but hadn’t mentioned.  It was a full and frustrating year.

I started out with simple goals, I thought. Make abundant room for creative pursuits in my house and in my life. Get me and My Angel healthier. Get the house in less of a state of deferred maintenance. Finish unfinished stories and start new ones.

I did a lot of work toward those goals, but finding that magic point where you say "it's done!" mostly eluded me.  I kept finding things that had to be done before the things I had my sights on—and then, things that had to be done so those things could get done.  In between, I found new, urgent things to spend time on, like getting the heat fixed (twice).

I had big dreams.  I knew I was tired when I left the law firm, but I didn’t realize how totally exhausted I was, nor did I plan on getting dreadfully sick right after that. It took weeks after I felt “better” to have energy to do stuff, even very simple stuff like painting walls and fixing plaster.  (In case you have any doubt, painting walls a single color and filling cracks in the wall with plaster take a lot less emotional and intellectual energy than telling a story, painting a picture, or singing a song.)

My Angel continued to be sick, even with the thyroid medication, and her doctor gave her a handicapped parking card. We’ve spent the year talking with her various doctors about shifting her medications, trying to find a better mix so she could be more active, fall down less, and feel better.  We have made some progress, but that tale still isn't done.

We are now in mid-renovation for both bathrooms, since the one that was in mostly-inactive status had to be swiftly moved to primary-bathroom status despite its incomplete renovation status, so we could fix toilet leaks and rotting flooring upstairs. We still have to take out the toilet downstairs and do similar repairs there, once we finish fixing the walls in the upstairs bathroom, which couldn't be reached without moving the bathtub.  And so it goes. (Gosh, these projects would be much easier if I could just hire a crew to do all the work.)

Health issues continue to require attention. Just recently, I went to pick up a friend to get the necessary snow shoveling done, and even that tiny, short exposure to the sub-zero cold moved me back from relying on the computer to remind me to take my daily minimum asthma medicines to my lungs reminding me rather insistently to take the maximum dosages. The allergies and asthma are also an issue with making room; I have to be careful handling dusty things or things that might be full of mold or other allergens.  And even if I had enough money to just hire workmen to do all the needed repairs, the work of sifting through things and throwing away or giving away the stuff that doesn't enrich my life can't be so easily delegated.

Looking forward, and remembering how sick I got after last year’s virus (the doctor didn’t actually give me a diagnosis, just strong pills, but given the symptoms I must have gone from a flu into either bronchitis or pneumonia), I have been very cautious about heading out to parties and other gatherings, and I sure hope that the flu epidemic will be over by next month, when I’m scheduled to be at Capricon.  I have to remind myself to eat healthy, sleep well, and claim the best health I can.

So, as I finish my tea, I remember that process matters in life too. The work of art that is my life isn’t finished, but I’m making progress. I remind myself of my sister, Dragon’s, chant—slow progress is still progress. And I think about how nice it is to take mint leaves from my garden and put them into a hand-made pot given to me by my now-adult child, thoughtfully made with a strainer built into the clay. That makes me think of the song by Elmer Beal, which honors the creators in the world, and says, in part, “…the future is more than the following day, it's fashioned securely in the clay.”

I take another sip, and look at the mug my tea is in.  I wanted a mug in suitable colors for the pot, since my daughter focused on making teapots; at the Restore (which sells furniture building materials and the like as a fund-raiser for Habitat for Humanity) I found a mug with a name written around it in Irish letters.



I was of course not so lucky as to find a mug with my name on it; this one was, instead, for Patricia. It feels right, however, since my Aunt was a Patricia, so that the herbs grown in the sacred earth of my garden are housed in a pot made of clay by the next generation, and a cup that I think was made in Ireland, where most of my ancestors lived, that commemorates the previous generation. Past, present, and future, heritage and dreams, earth, air, fire, water, and spirit—they’re all tangled together, no more separate than the different sides of a polyhedral die.

As I finish my tea, I resolve to be open to the processes needed for the new year, and to frame my goals in wide terms. More specificity might suit a different year better, but for this new year I think I need to be more alive to the possibilities of the moment. In general terms however, I resolve to continue my goal of making room, and very specifically add the intentional goal of staying healthy enough to do a lot more, both on the house and on the creative front. I plan to have a lot of fun (and doubtless lots of frustration) writing and arting and creating the best stories of my life, so far. I may fashion my bit of the future mostly in pixels, instead of clay, but in this modern world, that is just as real.

And I think I’ll drink more tea, from this pot and this mug, and from others, and remember that each act of creation is a measure of my faith in the future as well as my small part in creating it.

And so I tip my glass to all of you.  Slàinte!

But then I spent my evening yesterday mostly working on Torn World stories, and earlier this evening messing with stupid computer issues that seem to have resolved after restarting the internet router and turning the computer on and off a couple of times. *sigh* I hate it when I'm ready to be productive and the equipment isn't.







I'll try for better pictures one of these days, but in the meantime, you can see a glimpse of what I did with my Everyday Goddess t-shirt as well as the new guitar (and the sense of  humor of the friend who took the photos, who aimed carefully to get the Christmas Star over my head).