I rarely start out to make these insanely elaborate decorations. You would think that after 70+ hour weeks in the studio making pottery, I’d just make a pie, or stick flowers in a vase. But my mind is racing with imagery. At the market I just have to have these particular lime green mums, and…not those…not those…oh, have to have these bright red mini carnations! And then they have to be meticulously arranged. Like this:
And the funny thing is, I never feel closer to my grandmother than when I am obsessed with getting the pie crust to look just right. I can so vividly recall her lattice crust and the way she used a zigzag cutter to cut the strips.
This Thanksgiving, my daughter returned for the first time a grown woman. She went right to work in the studio, making pottery for her Etsy shop, MarciG. When she helped me cook and bake, I was amazed at how much she knew without being told. And then it occurred to me how many years she’d silently been there, just watching.
I think what makes us family is not so much our genetics, as we are all so very different. It is rather this silent language that runs through us.
We make our nests, our homes like a monk prays, or like a little bird sings.