Learning to Fly: Turning the Wheel of Love (Offering 7.2)
Clay, vulnerability, and a lakeside wedding in the Salish Sea.
In the winter, Shon and I turned clay into goblets while a new definition of vulnerability reshaped my heart. By summer, we stood barefoot by a lake, surrounded by community, and said our vows.
(This is Offering 7.2 of Eclosion: An Artistâs Path to Power and Peace. If youâre new here, start at the beginning. Or visit my Memoir Hub for a full table of contents with links.)
Turning the Wheel
That winter, we spent a lot of time in the studio, immersed in wedding preparations. A dream of mine was to make ceramic wine goblets for all our guests, which was no small task. Creating a wheel-thrown goblet out of clay meant throwing two separate piecesâthe stem and the bowlâtrimming them, and then carefully attaching them together. That would have meant making nearly 300 individual pots. Shon took one look at the numbers, looked at me like I was nuts, and said, âNo way!â
We compromised on stemless wine goblets. Working together with easy rhythm, we made sure that both of our hands touched each one. We took turns throwing goblets on the wheel and trimming them. When it came time to glaze, we worked side by side, layering the colors together. We even created a new signature to carve into the bottomsâour initials intertwined in the shape of a heart.
As we worked in the studio that winter, the electric wheel humming, we listened to a six-hour Sounds True recording of a talk by Brené Brown. Her words wove through the repetition of our work, my hands wet as the clay slid through them, shaping and reshaping. As the wheel spun round and round, I began to feel an unraveling.
BrenĂ© spoke of connection and disconnection. She spoke of vulnerabilityâsomething I had always feared, something I had been taught was weaknessâas a strength. The way she spoke struck a chord within me.
Could vulnerability really be a strength?
The terror that question sparked in me made me wonder. It got me thinking about myself and my use of alcohol to numb feelings that I didnât want to have. I wasnât ready to change anything yet, but her words settled deep inside me, gentle as the kiss of butterfly wings.
Love in the Islands
We were married on the edge of a lake, on an island, in the middle of the Salish Sea, at the height of the summer of 2012. Before the wedding, a friend whoâd married the year before gave me a simple but profound piece of advice: Allow yourself to receive. This would be one of the few times that our entire community would come together to celebrate us. I leaned into this advice. Even though I led the charge in planning the entire celebration, I also opened myself to help. The result was an incredible event filled with love and community that fed Shon and me deeply.
Friends and family came from far and wide for our three-day celebrationâThe Shon and Carrie Show: Love in the Islands. We all stayed together at an environmental education camp on Orcas Island, sleeping under the clear skies and tall trees in cabins and tents at the height of our Pacific Northwest Summer.
Our celebration was complete with a variety show around the fire the first night. Friends shared songs, acrobatics, and stories of our love. A friend from North Dakota emceed, kicking off the show with a joke about how we became friends so long ago we hadnât even gotten our first periods yet, and how sharing a cabin with all these women from high school, weâd probably end up with our cycles in sync by the end of the night.
With the Blackberry Bushes String Band playing live, Shon and I each danced down the aisle with a parent. Bare feet practically floating over the springy grass, we came together in our own little dance in front of a May Pole adorned with flowers and streamers. There standing in front of the clear, crystal blue lake, we gazed into each otherâs eyes, and out at our community, surrounding us with love and support. The ceremony was rich and delightful.
Shonâs voice trembled with emotion as he began his vows, weaving our love story through the thread of artâthe very thing that first drew us together. Saying heâd loved me since our first date in the wilds of Alaska, âOf course, it lasted ten days.â After committing to be with me and return to me, he ended with a long-standing joke between us: âAnd although it is in my nature to flow with what seems natural to me, I will do my best to actualize our dreams, right now!â
I also began my vows with art as the catalyst for our love, my voice catching as I shared that he was my best friend, ending with a similar joke on our different natures: âAnd even though my strengths lie more in the realm of making things happen, right now, I will continue to practice patience.â
The Blackberry Bushes later played for the dance party, which included a full-on square dance. The square dance was Shonâs idea. Iâd never been much of a square dancer myself, but spinning through the night with my loved onesâwatching laughter ripple through those who rarely dancedâwas pure bliss. We served up five gallons of honey mead that I brewed especially for the occasion. My brother manned the grill, serving up delectable meat from a pig named EntrĂ©e that weâd raised for the occasion. True to our barter roots, I traded a mural for help at the wedding from Woodward Lane Cohousing and Shon traded building a chicken coop for wedding flowers.
That night, I was intoxicated by something much stronger than alcoholâlove, joy, and the energy of our people. Still, when the mead flowed, and a bottle of fancy whisky was passed around the fire, I drank. And at least for that night, I believed I had it under control.
đŠ Whatâs one celebration or ritual that still lives bright in your memory?