Display at Gallery at Friday’s Creek, one side, by Tammy Vitale

It’s becoming pretty obvious to me that the part-time job, while part-time, consumes more than part-time head time (the hamster, I guess, in another guise) as I sort through what needs to be done.  So it behooves me to be even more particular about physical time – I can do clay and think about the part-time job at the same time.  In fact, it may be the exact right frame of mind for thinking about it.

Meanwhile, I have a full kiln ready to unload – good for thinking about other things.  Mostly it’s just finishing work which doesn’t take brain power.  But I also have 1,000 pounds of clay (1,000 pounds of possibility) arriving today and need some head space for that.  So I’m learning to balance things – probably a very good lesson as I tend to be obsessive.  It is good that I have my passion for clay because it draws a line for itself against my passion for the environment.  I am learning that passions can live side by side, successfully I hope!

Then there’s getting around to read other blogs.  On Leah’s blog yesterday I read that Finding Water is drawing to a conclusion. !!!! And I was just getting ready to pick the book up again, at some point, and start working it.  I read that JC’s stopped her whining, which was making me crazy.  Not to say I still can’t pick it up and work at least the Divining Rods – because I found them helpful.  But I wonder if the book isn’t really a jump start.  And I’m running, so I don’t really need a jump start.  Or is it a slowing down and taking stock?  That’s always good when you’re running – check the heartbeat, take a sip of…water.  Morning pages have dropped completely away.  Am having a hard time even getting here with words to type – unless you want the latest strategy for building a non-profit organization from volunteer to staffed. 

Outside my window everything is green.  The trees have leafed out, we took the tropical plants outside and I can see two from my seat at my desk, the azaleas are past their peak and the summer annuals are still small, so mostly, it’s very green.  And still, for us, very cool.  Not all together bad.  I can wait for the humidity to start later.

It is time to figure out how to find a gallery/shop or two or five in Arlington, VA to keep up with all the folks I’ve met through ArtOMatic.  That’s where I grew up but you can’t go home – it’s Northern Virginia and has grown so much it isn’t hard to get lost even around the block where I lived, and certainly at Tyson’s Corner which looks like a small city.  There has to be art over there somewhere (none that I’ve found in my travels to date) and I need to find it.  It’s a day trip away and I have clients there.  Better than trying for far away places I can ship to but may never see (although those are on my list too).

thanks to all who have stopped by and sent along good wishes for the success I’m having art-wise.  Much appreciated.  I can honestly say that if I did not have this community here cheering me on, it would be much lonelier and much less fun.  Thanks for helping me make it!

And here’s something else – I just answered the phone and Son says he’s voluntarily going into detox, locked down, for 8 days and we were talking about that and his phone went dead.  But I had time to tell him that we love him no matter what, even if we disagree with his choices when he’s using.  Then he called back and we talked a bit longer – me about doing the work to find out why he’s here at this moment.  Because if he doesn’t, he’s doomed to repeat.  He says it’s getting harder to get clean every time.  We talked about not being able to hang out with the same friends and about making life changes.  I don’t know how he’s going to do it, but I know if he really wants to, he will.

thought for the day: Sometimes, when a bird cries out/Or the wind sweeps through a tree,/Or a dog howls in a far-off farm,/I hold still and listen a long time.

My world turns and goes back to the place/Where a thousand forgotten years ago, The bird and the blowing wind/Were like me, and were my brothers.

My soul turns into a tree,/And an animal, and a cloud bank,./Then changed and odd it come homes/and asks me questions.  What should I reply?  Herman Hesse, Earth Prayers