The past month and a half have flown by in a blur. Since we returned from North Carolina in August, I have worked night and day on this house knowing that the permit would expire while we were gone in October. I’ve hit it early, usually before daylight, and stopped only for scheduled classes or meetings and then hit it again until I was the only one hitting. I’ve missed many social opportunities and pulled my blog, more times than not, from past compositions just so I wouldn’t be one of those disappearing bloggers. I’m going to add a remodel photo album soon that shows the process. We still have some superficial changes to the old part which we will make in good time.
Last night I used the clay room for the first time. I put myself on the wheel and slapped a lump of gooey clay onto the turntable. Though it was a demonstration, it was also a renewal. I haven’t thrown for over a year, but because I am a teacher and have done this many times before, I found myself talking my way through it so that each step would be clear and make sense, I engaged my conscious mind only enough to be sure that I could be followed when the next person –who had never thrown before last night- would know what to do or maybe what not to do. Throwing clay is a very sub-conscious act. It has a releasing effect on the tensions of the body and soul.
When the piece was lifted from the wheel to the bat and the turntable was cleaned and ready for a student, I rose from the table feeling interrupted, but good. As the student took on her first grapefruit sized ball of soft clay, I shifted back to teacher mode and hovered over her. She did well and only needed my interference for a couple of short moments. At first she was nervous and tentative, then slowly, she stuck her hands right into that spinning glop and I reduced my help to squeezing water from the sponge over her hands and clay while she worked. Then eventually I backed off even that and told her to wrap it up or her clay would take on water. She finished quickly and we cut the piece off the wheel and onto a bat. She stopped and exhaled slowly trying to explain how hypnotic the whole thing was. I smiled.
Sitting in the sunroom this morning, fighting the kitten off my breakfast and discussing the mysteries of faith with my husband, I found the new space, as I have since I introduced the first two chairs there, a natural, inviting place. Though I recognize it’s newness, it feels familiar, inspiring, comforting.
I’ve made my share of “home improvement?” jokes as have my friends. It’s taken us almost one year to complete from the days of the monoveg in the front to the final signing one week ago today. One friend referred to it as the longest running sit com in history. Another called it “The Extreme Home Makeover – Woodall Edition” and quipped that it came on at 2AM between two infomercials just before the signal thingy came on. We who have been up early in the morning knew she has no clue about modern television. But she had a clue about our makeover.
Yet standing there last night laughing and talking as people left, enjoying the dying fire just off my studio porch, I remembered that there was one ball of clay left from the evenings efforts waiting to be thrown. Feeling a little mellow and totally comfortable, proud and pleased with the space that I’ve maneuvered around for a year, I realized that it really was home improvement. And while I still want some time, it will be okay when we decide to improve our home again.
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