So many flavors go with chocolate; I gave up sugar, wheat, soy, and dairy this year. I don't know how I'm going to replace my favorite chocolate ginger cookies.
I discovered the custom of fika [feeka] while in Sweden. A noun, let's have some fika, and a verb, let's go fika—is an invitation to have coffee and cake. The intent isn't to charge up on sugar and caffeine; the purpose is to slow down and connect with friends, colleagues, or someone new. It's intimate, usually three or four people. The fika spirit is to treat yourself to something cozy, a hot beverage with something sweet or savory. It's to give your mind the time it deserves to reconnect with your humanity and your creativity, time to savor time. A ritual so popular, it happens twice a day. I haven't been in a coffee shop with a friend in over a year; it's sad. I don't think my favorite place will make it through this time around, and I think I lost the habit.
Ceramic glaze lens itself to fall foliage, greens that aren't quite right, funny reds, and loads of browns.
Zoom meetings have replaced the coffee shop. Three mornings a week, I meet artist's friends from as close as New Jersey to as far away as France. We talk over coffee, hold each other accountable for our goals, and edit each other's blogs. I'm so comfortable seeing myself on a video screen, I'm thinking of offering online classes. Once a week, I get together with two friends. We cook and connect over dinner; it's now a ritual we look forward to, providing us with the energy we used to find meeting at a coffee shop. My husband and I meet with another couple on the weekend to play cards, share cocktails, and have dinner. As Friday rolls around, I anticipate being with family. We've been friends for years. This is how I get my fika fix.
There are two things I love drawing above all others: trees and poppies. To me, I can always make them in conversation, at a party, or peacefully on their own.