I remember every detail of the first time I saw Buddy. There was a tuft of his fuzzy brown head poking out the top of the red plaid gift bag that our close family friend, Robert D, held out to me with one hand.  “You can call him what you want, but his name’s Buddy,” He said, in his characteristic style, at once both caring, and uncomfortable with all the required mushiness that comes with caring for two little girls as much as if they were your own. I looked at the bag Robert D had given me and then back at him before opening it to pull out the furry brown body. I gave Buddy a test hug and it was love at frst squeeze.

It’s been 24 years since that day and Buddy has spent every day of those 24 years on my bed, propped between the two pillows by day, and tucked under my arm at night. I’ve rested my head on him when I needed a prop, smooshed my face into him to stifle my tears and fallen asleep smelling his weird, warm laundry and lipgloss scent. Any embarrassment I may have had at still having a Teddy Bear has faded with my adolescence and though I know I don’t need a bear to sleep with, I still tuck him under my arm even now. He’s warm and full of memories that float out every time I squeeze him, and his little worn body is molded perfectly to the contour of my arm. To me he represents everything about being  kid that I want to remember and perhaps that is why I love having him around, even now. To remind me of the things I never want to outgrow.

Someone asked me recently if Buddy would now be Noah’s and even though I want to give him everything I can, I said no. Buddy is full of my memories, not his, and a ratty old bear wouldn’t mean the same thing to him. Besides, I wasn’t done with Buddy yet.

But Buddy had a twin named Teddy, who was under the care of my little sister all these years. Although she played with and talked to Teddy all the time, she never slept with stuffed animals and so Teddy has weathered the intervening years in better shape physically than poor Buddy. This past Christmas was the first time in over ten years that the two bears were re-united. You see, my sister, knowing what Buddy meant to me, wanted Noah to start from scratch and have the chance to have a bear that would be to him what Buddy was to me. Tia nobly handed over the care of Buddy’s long lost brother Teddy into my son’s tiny hands. If anyone is trying to find a Christmas gift that will make your sister cry, this is it.

Putting Buddy and Teddy side by side shows the toll that 24 years tucked under an arm can make on a poor bear. I hope this year marks the start of Teddy’s new journey and that in another 24 years the stories he will be able to tell will be just as good as Buddy’s are.

The blog has been quiet over the holidays due to the holiday rush, so I have some catching up to do. So, in the spirit of fourth grade english essay assignments, here is what the holidays had in store for us…

Orders from the shop, the majority of them custom designs, started coming in near the end of November and did not stop. It has been fantastic and horrifying and certainly a learning experience. I had completely underestimated the holiday rush for Sixth & Elm but that was very good news for me and I was able to buy some Christmas gifts for myself too, including the shiny new laptop I am now typing on. Running on 4 hours of sleep a night, cleaning out the supply of 8×8 boxes in the greater Toronto area and finding out what the couch cushion looked like with ebony black wood stain were some of the things I would liked to have skipped, but despite the rush I enjoyed it all.

I especially liked being touched by the stories each custom box told between the gifter and the receiver. The shy and sheepish requests for cute, silly, sweet and nonsensical (nonsense to me, anyways) phrases or images burned onto the boxes each told the story of a bond – a sweetheart, a daughter, a friend – and it is rather nice to be surrounded by these stories at this time of year.

For sanity’s sake during the rush I did take a few breaks to make some pieces for my family and for the shop. My sister Tia has liked the copper tree sculptures I have been making this year, so it seemed only appropriate that I make her a tree in her favorite colour for her favorite time of year. I have a listing up at the shop of the Christmas tree I made her if anyone is interested in commissioning a similar piece. I also finished a decorative wall map I made for her of Middle Earth from Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Hers was unstained, as per her wishes, but I will be posting the version I stained with a Cabernet stain in the shop sometime this week.

We gave Mom a hand-etched wall panel of an elephant (Mom’s crazy about them) but the poor thing did not make it all the way to Mom & Dad’s. Staring at the cracked pieces of my hard work in the backseat after a fateful attempt to calm Chuki’s in-the-car panic attacks was really heart-breaking, but kitty didn’t get hurt on the glass and I can make Mom another.

I also played with copper plating a few items (using the electrophoresis tank at work – don’t worry, Yanming – it will still work for proteins), but I need to find a better conductive paint, and I made a few roses and other small clay items to fire sometime this year.

Next year I am already set up to explore origami and leather tooling (yes, it was because of Into the Wild, so what) along with some glass – slumping and maybe getting into lamp-working. Looks like it’s gonna be a busy year, but I can’t wait.

The first conscious memory I have of making something on my own was in first grade, during a recess break in a thunderstorm. It was October and the trees whipping by the window were quickly being stripped of their deep red and orange leaves, sending them spiralling up and away from me. Because of the rain and lightning we were spending the break indoors and Mrs. Wasko had put out art materials to use if we wanted. A number of children were crying as the thunderclaps seemed to be booming inside that very classroom instead of outside. My sister, Tia, was in Kindergarten and her teacher had let her come up to spend the recess with Big Sis. She did not cry, but she did not let go of my left hand as I drew, either.

I remember taking care to pick the most vibrant red paper, the deepest colour of orange pencil crayons, the brightest yellow markers. That day was the first time I ever looked at the world around me and visually journaled what I saw.

I think I remember that day so vividly because all of the elements of my favorite experiences were present. I love thunderstorms and to this day I cannot stop a grin when I hear the first distant rumbling. I am still in Love with Ontario in October and the simple fact that tree leaves get more beautiful as they grow closer to dying. And I am still touched when Tia lets me know in her own way that it would be okay for me to comfort her, if I can, even if she won’t admit she needs it.

The October Tree is the third in a series of trees for the seasons, mimicking the deep colours of the maple I remember watching as I drew and coloured that day. I haven’t been back to St. Sebastian’s in a long time and I don’ t even know if the tree still stands. I don’t want to know. I want it to forever look like it did to me that day as I shaded leaves holding hands with my little sister inside during a storm.