weekend

on the eternal question of rest

I took a whole weekend.

a teeny yellow flower on the banks of the creek. I am so grateful for the incredibly good camera that my phone puts in my pocket.

At least, I intended a whole weekend and got most of what I intended.

I made art (pottery) after months of not making that art. I ate food. I talked to friends. I kept telling myself work, and the crises of the world, would still be there on Monday. Sabbaths are old for a reason. Breaks are old for a reason. Capitalism is less old than rest. Rest is massively, vastly, critically important to life. It’s not an interruption of life, it is part of life.

When I was 19, I was fortunate to have the chance to study abroad in France for a term. The program was run by my college, for intermediate language students, and in retrospect it is the only way I could have fulfilled the language requirement, because of what I now think are learning disabilities. But I digress. I lived in the south of France for ten weeks when I was 19. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it changed almost everything about how I lived, because it reorganized my sense of priorities. In my earlier teens I was hospitalized before I realized that grades were less important than survival; this wa the second big shift. I said to a friend, “In France, work is an interruption of life. In the US, life is an interruption of work.”

And I was realizing, even then, that I did not want to live a work interrupted by life. I wanted to live my life and if it had to be interrupted by work, ok I guess.

I wanted then, and I want now, to have a fluid rhythm, but working for myself has messed it up. Partly because I love what I do, partly because some of the things I do are driven by inspiration which does not wait for a schedule (although giving the muse a standing date does help), and partly because there is this constant need to be marketing, without which I have no work, and thus no livelihood. In fact, the most dangerous thing for my business’ survival is to stop telling people it exists and allow it to fade into relative obscurity. If not for that, I would be sorely tempted (although I do, obviously, think some of my ideas are worth sharing).

But fluid rhythm definitely doesn’t involve working all the time and staying up half the night trying to think of things to say.

So last weekend I decided we were going to try for a proper weekend. I planned art things. I planned errands related to art things. I pondered some life things that were necessarily in time out last week. I made pots and dropped pots off for firing. I visualized how the hemming of the houppelande-cum-dressy jacket was going to go. I went to the fabric store for ribbon. I sat by the banks of a creek near the fabric store and just listened to the water for...I don’t know how long, I didn’t time it or worry about it. I had nowhere to be.

the creek in question, with just enough ripples to sound soft and lovely

I had nowhere to be.

I thought I might change that on Sunday but no I didn’t. I did more pottery things. I cooked a meal, not as meal prep but just for food, you know, to eat. I did flip the dishes and unpack a few things (my suitcases are an ever-evolving project) and a few other house things. I looked at the lawn and decided it would need attention soon, but not right now. I refused to fret about tax-related issues that will need to be dealt with soon. I spent time breathing, literally doing breathing exercises in bed. I made tea both days. I sat outside and knitted in the sun.

It was extraordinary.

Why is this extraordinary?

I have a limited range of things I will say should about, but this is in that range. It shouldn’t be extraordinary. In fact, the worse things get the more imperative it becomes that it is not. As I type this, my phone is...somewhere. I am aware that I need to check my blood sugar, which I do with an app which is on my phone. I am also aware that Someone May Wish To Speak With Me. Increasingly, I am confident that Someone Can Wait. Same with text messages and email. I am becoming increasingly eighties-ified. We had answering machines and didn’t have cell phones or email (most of us). If you couldn’t reach someone you just had to do something else.

Like write a letter, or pull weeds, or get a drink from the water cooler down the hall, or go through your (phyiscal, tray on your desk) inbox.

I am infinitely grateful for the many benefits of the internet, including that I can work from this desk that I bought the parts for on the internet and built the top for myself that is located in my home office where I can do my work easily with people across the country. I am so grateful to be able to offer a workshop to a congregation on the other side of the country next weekend, where the people will be gathered in their church and I will be in my office here, and we will not have to spend time and money and jet fuel to get me over there. I am grateful for the many friends and communities that I get to be a part of which would never have gathered in the 80s.

And also. I do not wish to be at everyone’s beck and call at all times. It is stressful and unncessary.

my wheel is janky because it’s cheap, and not worth fixing according to the people who might fix it. So I (often) put these super tall bases on my pots when I throw them which allows for some correction of the wobble. This one is just done being thrown and had to be left alone for a day before I could even take it off the bat. I’m learning to throw with less water but I have a long way to go.

You can’t use your phone when your hands are covered in clay. Best to put it on do not disturb. People can wait. It’s your turn.