the mission: ceramics 101

"Are you the Swansons?" - our ceramics teacher as we rolled into class 5 minutes late. (Not bad...) "Are you a band? You sound like a band."

Now that's a new one. But it's particularly funny right now since our running joke for the summer is that we're going to start a family a cappella group a la Von Trapp Family Singers. We opted not to share that joke with out new classmates and teacher; best not to get their hopes up.

"Trapp Family Singers 1941" by Trapp Family Singers
Metropolitan Music Bureau, New York. Photo by Larry Gordon.

We went around the room and introduced ourselves: the high school English teacher trying ceramics out for fun; three women who took the class before and got addicted; Thom, doing this to hang out with the siblings; me, who made some pinch pots back in first grade and hung out with potters in college; Maria, the music person whose idea it was to take the class in the first place ("so when we all hate it we know who to blame!"); and Asha, who of course got the hang of the clay long before the rest of us could even put two pinch pots together and keep them inflated.

By the end of the three hours, Asha had a lion head ready to be fired; Maria made an abstract "war bird"; I had a lumpy eggplant that stands on end and Thomas created and collapsed a pineapple. ("I don't really need a bunch of clay pineapples collecting dust.") After 8 weeks, we're all hoping to have a mug to show for ourselves.

This is what my siblings and I do for fun. The other day J and I showed up for dinner and my dad was tiling the upstairs bathroom, Asha was picking up rocks from the creek to line flower beds, Maria was stitching a T-shirt quilt and Thomas had plans for his latest project laid out in graph paper all over the living room. "Now you know why I get so irritated when the TV's on all the time," I said to J.

One summer, we scripted, set, and produced an adventure movie filmed across four cities in Northern India. The final product was 20 minutes long, with complicated character relationships and a cast of six.

my inspiration: pottery from friends

I value that creative outlet, and the creative community in growing up that way. It's a hunger I carry with me everywhere I go, even now... Even though I dedicate so little time to creative endeavors these days. I envy people who do art professionally, like my full-time writer friends here in Delaware and my college friends now doing MFAs, publishing chapbooks, selling handmade jewelry or bowls or clothes in towns around the country. I envy people who have the energy after work to do anything more than throw together a (roughly) balanced dinner and maybe a fancy cocktail - my art of choice these days.

I caught up with a friend last week who just left her job in preparation for moving and starting grad school over the next few months. She said, "Now that I'm not working, the TV is hardly ever on. I just find a lot of other things to do."

Out of desperation, I added that it serves its purpose; it's an easy way to get a story fix at the end of a full day.

As a kid, I watched only PBS until I aged out around 10. Sesame Street taught me how to read, and Wishbone taught me how to love it; Mr. Rogers taught me imagination. When we had filled our TV quota for the day, we would run downstairs and build a "magic Barney bag" full of scavenged craft materials, or put on a sock puppet show, or set up our own mini-Olympics in the living room. We built tiny towns of mud-and-twig huts in the backyard, elaborate Lego cities for our plastic animal figurines, box and blanket forts for ourselves. Whatever we saw on TV, we replicated in real life. After a movie, when the credit music came on, we all leaped up from the couch and started dancing. When I read a great book, I started writing what I hoped would turn into a great book.

That is the luxury of childhood, and now I see it as such. When I have kids, I hope I can pass that on to them... but in the meantime I'm on a mission to find creativity in the adult world.

Readers: let me know where you all find your creativity, and how you make time and space for it!

hashtag learning (when to stop)

the hashtags of my life lately

The last few weeks have been a bit insane, with work (where we have a couple of big projects coming to fruition and lots of development going on), volunteer responsibilities, wedding planning, social commitments, conferences, big news events, and all the other extracurricular projects I've created for myself.

I'm getting a lot out of this laundry list, but am I getting maxed out a little? How much does input feed overload take away from my takeaway? And how do I put on the brakes when most things "can't wait," and I'm trying to establish my place in the world? (Not sure why I even bother, when that place is only going to change every other year, if not more often...)

I think the answer is: You just put on the brakes; there is no "try." It's like saying, "Excuse me, would you mind please turning this gigantic noisy machine off?" when nobody can hear you and you pretty much have to just walk right up to it and firmly push the EMERGENCY STOP button.

So (hopefully) that's one lesson learned. Or lesson in progress, anyway. I have a feeling that one is going to take some work.


But I'm pulling lots of other things, too, out of the chaos. Here are a few of them:

#IWSTEM panel, May 28

1. I am an introvert (or at least much more so than I thought I was). I need to spend some quality solo-time before and after big networking events or presentations, otherwise I get super exhausted, super fast.


2. It's okay to feel like an impostor. One of the extremely poised and successful women on an Inspiring Women in STEM panel shared this with us: "I have a hard time sometimes, and I feel like I shouldn't be, and like I can't be open about that." Afterward I thanked her for sharing that, because I often feel like I should be handling things a lot more seamlessly, and she said, "Do you ever feel like an impostor?" And I said, "YESSSSS!" And she said, "That's totally normal." Score!


3. If I want to talk to someone, I have to reach out. Don't wait. If I have a few minutes, and I'm thinking about somebody or have something to talk about, I just pick up the phone. Even 10 or 15 minutes is enough to keep a long-distance relationship going.


4. Focus on what's most important. For example, if I'm stressed out about wedding planning, I try to take a step back and remember why we're doing it: We're getting married to each other, and we want to share the day with people we love. It takes two seconds to think this and it puts everything back into perspective.


5. Also, share those priorities and values. I've been sharing that central piece with people in conversations, and I've been pleasantly surprised at how it shifts the focus of the conversation. Our culture tends to focus on the wedding more than the actual marriage, but when I introduce marriage into the conversation in that way it opens the floor for other people to share their own deeper thoughts and experiences.
   
   This approach also keeps me focused and accountable in other projects, and makes tough decisions suddenly become clear. Putting together a group for young third culture kids around Delaware and want to set the precedent for low-key, open conversation? Choose a venue that is quiet and open enough for easy talking.


6. State my position openly, and if I am confused or ambivalent about something, say that too. A lot of times what I'm not sure about gets worked out as I'm saying it; if not, someone else can usually offer something to help clear it up. If I know what I think (or if it really doesn't matter between choice A or choice B) it keeps things moving and positions me as a person of action. And then when something comes up that I can't figure out, the rest of the group has no problem chipping in because they know exactly where I stand.

I've also learned some other interesting factoids, such as:

• There is simulation technology being developed for nursing and medical students to practice procedures (surgical and otherwise) on theater students, so that they can get real-life feedback in a much lower-stakes environment. (From #TechTrendsDE, an event in downtown Wilmington that felt like stepping into Silicon Valley.)
• Childhood trauma is a major contributing factor to incarceration in adulthood, and housing access is one of the biggest barriers to successful reentry. #DCHJwomen
• I have learned a lot about my extended family, and about family dynamics in general, through planning our huge 5-year reunion to be held this summer. #arvidclara15
• There are 22 St. Olaf graduates currently living in the state of Delaware. #UmYaYa!

And lots of other things.

I don't see that slowing down anytime soon, and I have to admit I don't hate it.

we need each other

My family had two cats.

The first one, Stella, is the softest kitty you ever saw, with the sweetest, tiniest meow you ever heard -- but her personality is anything but soft and sweet. She's cranky and standoffish, and if you're lucky you can pet her once before she strikes with claws and teeth. She became part of the family the day after my first "date" with J; when asked about the beginning of our relationship, he always brings up the photo I sent him when I came home from work to find her there after picking her out at the shelter. She was about 6 months old, one of the youngest (and most vocal) cats in the social cat cage.

The second one, Furrgus, came to us as a tiny black ball of fur, his eyes barely open. He was found in a gutter and lived in our guest bedroom for 6 weeks in quarantine until he could safely come out and meet Stella. He was goofy and rambunctious from Day One, always sneaking out between our feet, climbing our pant legs, and tripping over himself. He's also fearless; while Stella would shoot off at the slightest noise or disturbance, Furrg chased the vacuum cleaner, the ceiling fan and the buzz saw.

Later we came to the conclusion that he was also deaf, because have you ever met a cat you could sneak up on?! We kept him inside for a long time, knowing that he wouldn't blink at a passing car or the other gigantic cats on the block (with whom Stella gets into regular altercations) or the neighborhood's crew of bored teenagers. But eventually his cabin fever was getting everyone down, so we let him out.

And he was so happy! He and Stella started getting along better; he cuddled more, slept more, cried less. He would just sit, for hours, watching us work outside, or having staring contests with Stella's arch-enemy cat from next door. His reflexes got sharper, and he mellowed out, became more affectionate.

And then on Saturday, my dad called to tell me he'd been hit by a car and died.

***

I can't say we didn't all see it coming. We knew he was too full of life to be the kind of cat who lived to a ripe old age of 20, when he would quietly fade away with 8 lives still intact. At two, he'd already burned through his backup lives, and it wasn't slowing him down a bit!

But I didn't see it coming this particular Saturday; I hadn't planned for it. And I didn't expect to mourn so deeply and immediately. My hurt usually soaks in slowly, over time, so I can deal with it when the time of action is over. Besides that, I'm used to being the Leaver, not the Left-Behind. We've had pets before, but we always moved (to a different country) before we had to make any tough decisions -- and have been miraculously spared a sad event like this one 'til now.

Furrgus was the kind of pet that teaches you how to be comfortable in your own skin, reminds you not to take yourself too seriously, encourages you to stay curious. He schooled us in living on the regular.

And, in a sense, he schooled us in death too. He went quickly, sleeping. And then he gathered us together -- even Stella.

Sharing grief is a powerful thing. It's critical: the element of touch; the way different people in the group trade off the caretaker role; the sharing of stories, that laughing-with-tears-streaming-down-your-face -- you can't do that by yourself so well. And two cups of tea, shared, taste so much better than one.

***

What I am left with is this: We Need Each Other.

We all need a Furrgus... or a few Furrguses. (My other "Furrguses" include my friend Chris Lund, my Grammi, Morrie Schwartz...) And we all need people to be around when tough times strike.

There is a lot to cry about in our world: layoffs and breakups and failed tests and pitch after pitch that falls flat.
Delaware (and the rest of the nation) is mourning our well-loved former AG, Beau Biden. The collective pain is palpable here in Wilmington.
People in cities across the country mourn the violence that named Wilmington Murder Capital of the USA last year, and has recently brought Baltimore to a 40-year high in shooting deaths, and strikes almost every city and town in its own way.
There are sunken boats and plane crashes and bombings and wars and extreme weather events.
And although the hype has subsided, the world has been mourning the 9,000+ dead in Nepal's series of earthquakes last month, and the many others affected still by the stricken infrastructure and loss of family, community, and home.

We have our personal tragedies, and our shared tragedies. Our mourning filters through every aspect of our lives, and adds a gritty complexity and weight to our days. And it intensifies our humanity, which seeks company and community. We teach each other and catch each other and do our best to salve the pain of others and to keep on. It's why we Walk for the Cure and donate or volunteer for relief efforts and community services and clean-up crews. It's why we go to wakes and hold each other while we cry and inevitably stumble over words that we know can never really take the pain away -- because we are human and that's beautiful and we need each other to remind us of what's important and why we even bother slogging through the shit at all. And to remind us to make the most of it, and to do what we can to make the world better, even in very small ways.