Looking back, it’s fairly obvious that I’ve always aspired to keep a “board of directors” for advice and guidance. I haven’t simply looked up to people around me in silence and awe, I’ve literally roped those people into mentorship and service.
I have many memories – some crisp and less-so – of talking philosophy, economics, life stories, relationships, values, goals, etcetera with one, some, or all of these wonderful humans in a variety of spaces and times. The better I got to know each of my chosen ‘board members,’ the more human they became to me. This is not to say that they became any less saintlike to me – instead, their humanity (their patience, their calm in times of strength, their resilience, their long-view, their mistakes and lessons learned – something different for each of them) lifted them further in my sight.
These relationships often formed, for me, in those quiet hours of the evening and into the night. When the body is weary from the day but the brain still rattles with ideas and intensity.
It’s not any occasional simultaneous drinking was important to the relationship, but I think of certain individuals when I reach for certain glasses… and the traditions continue. Sometimes, I put ice water in my whiskey glass, just as I might do with my Dad. There is something special about swirling an ice cube in ANY liquid, putting up your feet, and discussing world events in a softly lit space. The contemplation, the conversation. The glass brings me back. And sometimes it is still whiskey on the rocks. But more importantly, it’s the object, it’s the action of reaching for that special glass in the evening.
I wasn’t even truly aware of the depth of this myself until recently listening to a talk by Michael Strand at the American Craft Council’s conference in Philadelphia “Present Tense” — it was ELBOWLS that totally set off a live wire for me.
I have this tiny little glass that I acquired my first visit to Pilchuck. I was so damn young and had never been around such intense, generous creativity. I must have been such an awkward embarrassment in comparison! Never-the-less, somehow this group welcomed me and I sucked in all the energy I could bear. The teaching assistant for the group, Mel George, made each of the students in her class these small, clear blown glass vessels one evening. SNAP! My whole experience that summer is wrapped up in this little object. Notable to no one else on the planet but me.
I still treasure this glass. But it doesn’t collect dust, left up on a shelf – I take it down regularly and pour a tiny glass of whiskey. One rock fits with. And just like it happened yesterday, that little object pours those memories back to me and I’m reminded of the generosity and intensity of that experience.
I grab my Key Largo glass and I’m with my Dad for a moment, even though we’re a country apart.
I have a glass that reminds me of Pops. One for Vanilla Grandad.
One that reminds me of Uncle Jim. One for his badass wife, my Aunt Steph.
A whole collection of objects that help me quietly stay connected to the brilliant people who are my own secret little crew of advisors.
How do the sheep fit into that? That’s a completely different story, actually…
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