Hugh Hollowell

30 Spoons, done and all in one place.

This essay published January 24, 2021

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, as a mental health move and to improve my skills at carving, I made a spoon every day for 30 days. (There were a few days off for Christmas, New Year’s, and the odd unforseen thing, but 30 spoons, 30 days all the same.) I learned a lot during this experiment, and not all of it was about spoons.

I learned that daily practice can allow you to make dramatic changes in skill level in a very short time.
I learned that having a goal that you told other people about, so they can hold you accountable, really is more powerful than just saying, ‘I want to be better at carving”.
I learned that I am better at design than I think I am. Trying to come up with designs for this project (so I didn’t make the same spoon over and over)
People really liked following along and seeing my process. I know of several people who were inspired to begin their own 30 day projects in their own respective crafts.
I like making things that people think are beautiful.

Some folks have asked if, now that it is over, if I will be selling these spoons, or if I have spoons for sale. And the answer to both questions is yes! I’m still working out the details, but for right now I am encouraging you to put your email on this list if you are interested in buying a spoon, or having me make one for you, and I will be sending out an email in the first part of this week with the arrangements.

Here are all 30 spoons, in reverse order. If you click on the picture, it will take you to a large version of the image.

Miracle enough

This essay published January 4, 2021

I spent this morning among Pentecostal folk.

I have never seen a blind man regain sight.
I have never seen a cancerous tumor go away untreated.
I have never spoken in tongues.

When I prayed over the dying, they still died.
Despite intense prayer, my church still has a hole in its roof.
And praying in Jesus name has yet to bring me wealth.

But each day about 5PM, the birds gather
in the bamboo grove near my house
And sing songs of praise as they prepare to sleep.

And for me, that is miracle enough.

The HALT Rule

This essay published January 3, 2021

I’m not an alcoholic. But I have lots of friends who are.

And as a minister, and what’s more, as the sort of minister who has lots of friends who are alcoholics, I have been to lots of AA meetings with people who needed some support. So. Many. Meetings.

I don’t mind. It’s good stuff, and while it doesn’t always work for everyone, the ones it works for, it really, really works. And besides – nothing always works for everybody.

But one thing I like about AA is that it’s a methodology and not a dogma, which is why the basic method has been adopted by lots of 12 step groups. I’m pretty sure it is true that every time I have ever been to an AA meeting, I have picked up something useful. It has a better batting average for me that way than church does, to be honest.

One thing I picked up “in the rooms” was the H.A.L.T. rule. The basic premise is that you shouldn’t make serious decisions when you are Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. Get it? Hungry Angry Lonely Tired. H.A.L.T.

It’s really good advice. It has served me well. Very few decisions can’t wait until after you have eaten something, calmed down, called someone, or had a nap. The idea is that nobody makes good decisions when they are in a temporary state of chaos, and so you should sort that out before making a serious decision.

But then 2020 happened, and it seems like I am either hungry, angry, lonely, or tired all the damn time. Those are no longer temporary statuses. They are my reality now, and that is true for a lot of us.

And so, what has been a really useful strategy for decision-making now just seems like avoidance, and I find myself hesitating to make any decisions. Like, literally any decision. The value of a holding pattern is that it is temporary. But the pandemic seems to be going nowhere, and the vaccine roll out could take most of 2021, and so “temporary” seems like a less than accurate way to describe our current situation.

No real resolution or solutions here, I’m afraid, and no neat way to wrap this up with a bow on it. It’s just something that occurred to me today, when I was resisting making yet another large decision.

30 Days of Spoons

This essay published January 2, 2021

A few weeks ago, pandemic isolation was getting to me. But then again, the dead of winter is always hard on me. First there is the lack of sunlight. Seasonal affective disorder is real, and does my depression no favors.

Then there is the damp cold weather that I feel in my joints, reminding me of my misspent youth. I just ache all winter. I ache less in Central Mississippi than I did in North Carolina, but I still ache.

My primary depression management strategy has always been making. Whether gardening or cooking or building a chicken coop or deck, turning a pile of chaotic parts into an ordered result hits my soul in all the right places.

But the reality is that pretty much everything I love to do is off limits in December and January, except cooking. And this year, I’m cooking for two of us, just like I do every damn other day of my life.

Add a global pandemic and political chaos into the pile and you get a perfect shitstorm inside my head.

So I was racking my brain trying to find a way to make things that I can do inside (where it is warm and well lit) and that challenge me, yet are not projects so huge I lose interest in them. I decided to try making some spoons.

Why spoons? Well, they are relatively quick to make, and yet require a bit of skill to do. And it’s something I’ve never done before, and if I were to do a number of them, I would probably get better over time. And, to satisfy my Protestant guilt, they are useful to boot!

I had a nice gouge to carve out the bowl, and bought myself a sloyd knife for the hand carving. I will write a post later on the technique, but to begin with I watched a few YouTube videos and was on my way.

The first one turned out OK (that is it up there at the top), especially for a beginner effort, so I did another.

And then another.

Then I decided I would make a spoon a day for 30 days. Today is day 12, and I’m posting each day’s spoon over on Instagram.

Whatever gets us through, right?