One of the gifts “Santa” (ahem, Jack) brought for the kids last Christmas was a pottery wheel. Evelyn’s been elbow-deep in a ceramics class at school, and has brought home some rather creative pots, which gave Santa the idea. No surprise, it’s turned into a favorite, especially among the kids. Evelyn has been giving private lessons to everyone, and it was a welcome source of entertainment, particularly when we were snowed/frozen/quarantined at our place for much of January.
I took a semester of ceramics in high school, and I remembered most of the basics. Evelyn still wanted to show me her skills, so I sat down with her after everyone else was in bed.
She looked around self-consciously at the clay splattered everywhere. “I’m going to deep clean this room over spring break.”
I just smiled at the promise. It’s true, I prefer tidiness, but sometimes, I am willing to let it go by the wayside when there’s a reason for it. Education, enjoyment, and family time seemed appropriate.
Evelyn spun a hunk of clay on the wheel, and smiled sheepishly with another glob flung off onto the baseboard. I ignored the clench in my jaw at the addition to the mess. What’s a little more?
Since I’d never learned how to make a plate in my class, I asked for her to teach me. The first thing she reached for? My missing rolling pin. I said nothing, but we both grinned. “Um, this was already broken, so I figured you wouldn’t miss it.”
“Right,” I agreed.
She then taught me how to shape a plate while bits of clay splattered everywhere. Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a dedicated art studio at home, but then I realize I might miss some of the character growth that comes from learning to value the experience more than the mess. And honestly, that’s part of the charm—the whole thing usually leaves me laughing.
