I, like many, am overwhelmed by choice. I like a menu with five or six items on it, and a supermarket that doesn’t make choosing chickpeas feel like a task. Since we moved, I’ve lived with a small version of my wardrobe, and not once have I felt limited or without. On the contrary, I’ve found the focus freeing. In my pottery, I decided to work with only one colour, blue, rather than the rainbow of colours I started with. Glazes are complicated, and clay is inherently unpredictable. In simplifying my choice, I’ve given myself a greater chance of success, and created an opportunity for a cohesive collection and stronger personal aesthetic. I think about my children, any child, and how much more imaginative and resourceful they are with few toys (or a stone and a stick) to play with. It’s the paradox of choice. The more we have, the less creative we are. One day, I may introduce more colours to my process. And I may revisit that wardrobe of plumed scarves and bejeweled dresses. But for now, less is more.

Makoto Kagoshima‘s ceramic dishes, cups and teapots are delightful. His illustrations, sweet and sincere, bring something so special to each piece. They are applied to the clay using a combination of techniques, including rounuki and kakiotoshi. With its delicate heart-shaped leaves, this hot water jug is lovely, and I love all the colours in this flowery plate. ““I am always mesmerized by the intricate sense of purpose I observe within the natural world.”

One of the great privileges of parenthood is getting to relive firsts through your child’s eyes. The first snowfall, the first ice cream, the first swim in an ocean. “Parenthood gives you the first four years of you life back,” I read once. It’s kind of bonkers to me that in five years on this planet, Luma had never seen a rainbow until today. We stepped out of our front door this afternoon to go for a walk, and there it was, in the clearing rain, and late summer sun, a rainbow. Like a full moon or a lightning storm, rainbows never seize to amaze me. “Shall we go find the pot of gold,” she asked full of glee. “Oh, you’ve found it already, sweet girl,” I said. “The gold is in the feeling that we’re feeling right this second. It’s in the wonder and magic of it all.”

I bought an enormous sugarbush flower yesterday that looks like a pink sunburst on my dining room table. I’ve always wanted one, and the lady at the flower shop says it will last for ages, and that I can even dry it. They’re so weird and grand looking. I also bought some pink velvet flowers, weird and wonderful in their own right. Pink spikes and frills galore, The living room looks like a runway show.

“Okay” is one of my favourite words. It comes from the Greek –– Olla Kalla –– which means all is good. It’s my default answer when anyone asks me how I am. That’s not to say that one can’t be okay + overwhelmed, underwhelmed, chewing on gristle or fighting sickness. It’s to say, that even with life’s challenges, we’re O.K. Okay is above that line none of us like to dip below. And Okay is knowing, that even when we dip, we’ll come back up. There’s a great scene in This is Us, where the lead character, Jack, sits down at a car dealership trying to convince the salesman to sell him a Wagoneeer for much less than it’s listed for in the showroom. “Here’s the thing Mel, I don’t want to buy one of those used cars out there. That Wagoneer, that’s my family’s car. I can see it so clearly. It’s sturdy. It’s tough….. But here’s the thing, Mel. I can’t afford that car. Which is why I need you to help me. As parents we talk a lot about what we want for our kids. I know I think about it a lot….and I can come up with a fancy word that’s going to make me sound a whole lot smarter than I actually am. But the one word I keep coming back to is, okay. I want my kids to be okay, Mel. I want my family to be okay….. I see my family okay in that car.” O.K. Is something we can rely on. O.K. has its feet on the ground even when they’re not. It’s not too lofty, nor too humble . O.K. is golden. It’s experience. It’s gratitude.