At the beginning of September the month ahead looked a bit manic. So many opportunities cropped up all in one month rather than spread out over several months but they were all things I was really looking forward to, so I put aside my worries about getting any work done and jumped in.
Throughout the month I'd been calling my manic month I've been to a live performance of Tubular Bells, been to Paris for 3 nights, visited my parents for 3 nights and made five batches of jam and jelly, done what I hope is the first of many activity sessions with my granddaughter, had one week at home making pots, had a friend to stay here, been with her to meet up with other friends at two different friends' houses (neither of whom I've met before) and been to London to meet yet another friend I've known online for 15 years but not met before, then in the final afternoon of the month met with my SixtyAt60 friend and another old friend I haven't seen for 33 years to share another of those 60 tasks.
Somewhere during that last day I became aware that something had changed. September no longer felt like a manic month; the whole had suddenly become greater than the sum of the parts and become a wonderful experience. Instead of being tired or dazed, I am thoroughly energised. There's always a danger when I'm really buzzing of a crash of tiredness to follow and I know this could still happen but I hope the energy will carry me forward. I've really thrived on having a life: spending so much time with so many and divers friends, being in so many different places one after the other and above all having conversations - oh, the conversations!
By contrast, the next five weeks at least must consist primarily of head-down, solid ceramics work. There is an exhibition coming up, not to mention Christmas sales in shops and markets, and my stock levels are at an all-time low. I don't feel daunted by this, though. The pottery is full of dry pots ready to be fired. More need making, but as each three or four batches of pots are made and dried, a kiln firing can follow.
The weather will change, there will be times of grief again and I will take off my rose-tinted specs in due course, but for the moment, at least, the joys of a splendiferous month are still with me.