My blog is not only about the arts and crafts business but about life in general. My hope is to inspire you, inform you, and make your current beverage of choice squirt out your nose. I've chosen "Dog's Head Red", a fine red table wine that's a cut above good ol' Mad Dog. A very tiny cut above. It's not quite as refined as "Drive 'er Home", my other favorite, but quite swanky, none the less. Read quickly, before it's all too blurry.

Friday, October 21, 2011

How Things Change

On October 17th, my son, Eamon, played his very last high school soccer game. Even though the team lost, he had one of his best games, making some jaw dropping saves. (He's a keeper. That's a goalie, for you non soccer aficionados.) I want to tell you what a great experience it was, (and it was), and how proud I am, (and I am), but mostly - I was devastated. Why was I not so devastated when my oldest daughter, Kira, played her last game? Why was I not so devastated when my other daughter, Keelan, played her last game? Why? Because he's my baby. In a few short months he'll be graduating, then going far away to college. As I watch him drive off in his very own car, I can't help but wonder - how did this happen? How can I be my mother? When did I become my mother? When did she become my grandmother? Why do I sob at the mere thought of him leaving, becoming a man? Who am I kidding - he's already a man. I never thought I would be at this place, this place where only others get to. This place where we must face our quiet houses. This place where we must find out if we have anything left in common with our spouses now that we have no one to interrupt us or demand our constant attention. This place where we must face our own mortality. Oh, my. How things change.

I found myself descending not into depression, but into "the pit", or in other words, my shop in the basement. I needed solitude. I needed to think, to feel, to find a way to cope. I sat in my usual place, looking at all the little replica animals around me, waiting to be placed into someone's special piece of art for them to enjoy forever. I sat that way for a long time - no TV, no iPod, no phone - just silence. I found pleasure once again in planning my pieces, laying them out, rearranging, deciding what goes where. I poured the resin, and spent a few hours molding, shaping and building. I finally sat back, feeling satisfied with my work, yet at the same time still feeling something was missing. My hands gravitated towards a new piece of wood, towards some little toy monkeys I'd been saving for a special lamp. I sanded the wood, sealed it, did all the things I usually do to make a lamp. But this lamp was different. This lamp was for someone I haven't met yet, but whom I love unconditionally. This lamp was for the person who will, in fact already has, unknowingly renewed me. This lamp is for Greyson, who at this moment is still unborn, his two mommies, my daughter and daughter-in-law, ready to take on the ultimate challenge and experience the ultimate joy. This is for my grandson, who has helped me to understand that each phase of life comes with it's own unique set of joys. Any day now he will make his entrance, this first grandchild of mine, and change us all profoundly. Hurry, Greyson. Gramma needs you.

Here's hoping you all find peace in your art or craft, as I have.

Best regards,


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