something wonderful
turquoise manhole
Crossing the street, downtown. Corner. Across from ArtCentral, where my studio awaits.
I share the sidewalk with people who have no homes to go to. They stay out late, in the chilly air. We're artists, all of us - artists of survival, artists of life.
Surrounded by my turquoise walls (which carry me away to the ocean, to the westcoast, to guatemala, to morocco, marrakesh...) I listen to sultry jazz tones, a Diana Krall CD that a long-time customer, supporter, friend, brought to my studio on Sunday ~ along with cookies, dark red crinkled cranberries and tinder-crisp almonds...
An email arrives ~ sweet Alisha wants to come and visit my studio, and writes,
"The beads look amazing.
Can't wait to see mine... I know I'm miss 56.. you're saving the best for last! I am so Excited. I feel like I'm waiting for a baby and I have to wait till it comes into the world...
Happy holidays to you."
And Diana Krall sings...
Gentle lamplight spills over my table as I look at the beads I have made these last few days. I smile, thinking about sending out little packets of glass joy and brightness into faraway lives... and I dream of the beads I will make, as the kiln warms up, clicking on, off, on, off...
At my feet... aboriginal dreamings... an unexpected gift showing up at my studio by surprise... gros bisous to Donni, fellow dreamer in Australia, {and her american co-conspirator?}...
I can squeeze in a few creative hours before I sleep - and then rest happily, lightly... knowing that I've made something today, something unpredictable, something wonderful...
A privileged life I lead. Privileged indeed.
