Things in Erin’s Brain 
Who likes to get dirty?
Were you a puddle splasher as a kid? Or maybe you are NOW…
Or were you one of those toddlers who when you got anything goopy on your hands you waddled up to mama, fingers extended, with a “please, PLEASE help me,” cringe on your face?
Me? It varies.
Actual mud? Meh, not so much. I’m not much of a puddle stomper. Gardening – Ixnay on the ardengay (remind me to tell you the story another time about my mom and “pig latin”).
I also don’t like period movies that involve dirt. That may have felt like a leap, but stick with me here… Westerns. Dusty. Long skirts (and slips and sweaty layers) that drag along sticky saloon floors. Nope. I just want to bathe everyone. That “MadMax” kind of futuristic-apocalypse nonsense? Smudged faces, deserts, torn potato sack clothes. Dry. Smelly. Blech. I’ll take “The Devil Wears Prada” any day, thank you very much. And you can hate me if you want to, but this means I don’t like that show “Yellowstone” either. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried like four episodes worth. You’re right, they seem to bathe, and yes I do LOVE horses (but am very intimidated by them and they know it), but it just didn’t hook me.
Anyway, back to dirt…
The one kind of mess I LOVE? Creative messes. Art messes. I have zero problem getting paint under my fingernails. Collages with scraps of paper and glue? That’s my jam. And this past week, I treated myself to the throwback of all throwbacks.
I took a pottery class.
A wheel throwing pottery class.
I haven’t touched clay since… 1992??
And it was MAGNIFICENT. I truly held zero expectations of myself. I remembered very little and asked Sarah of Sarah Glass Ceramics to just pretend I knew nothing.
The clay was firmer than I remembered. It felt hard at first, but started to soften in my hands as I made a ball just round enough to slam onto the wheel. (That’s one of the most satisfying parts). The rest? The rest was divine mess. Clay, water, tools… squishing, shaping, trying to control this spinning blob and draw something beautiful out of it. I had zero control over the clay. I just followed it where it wanted to go (kind of like my craniosacral work). I attempted to pull up the sides to make a taller… something… a vase? a cup? I had no idea. As I pulled, I could feel it get off center. A wobble between my fingers. I tried to correct it, to straighten it out, but instead it caved in on itself.
Again, and again, and again.
It was incredibly liberating. The art of knowing when to STOP.
I had clay covering my hands. Some up my arms. When I got home I found smudges on my leg where my hand brushed against it. A splatter in my hair. A smile on my face.
Soon I get to return to paint my little items. I don’t know what I’ll DO with them. But I know each time I see them they will bring me joy.
Because it’s all about love…
Massage Minute brought to you by
Nitty Gritty: CranioSacral therapy.
NO – it’s not a psychic lobotomy… but it is definitely a different style modality and a different approach to what a lot of massage therapists (and medical professionals) do. Here’s a little breakdown to satisfy your curiosity. If you’re not local to me and you’re interested in trying it out, you can find a practitioner near you at Upledger’s International Alliance of Healthcare Practitioners: “Find a Therapist”
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I look forward to seeing you soon.
