I’ve always had a habit of biting off more than I can chew—especially around the holidays. So it’s only fitting that I’m writing this on Christmas Day, in that strange, quiet pause where the wrapping paper is piled up, the cocoa is still warm, and the energy shifts from hustle to heart.

This year, I wanted to take a moment to share a few things that feel too important to leave unsaid.

A Gift I Didn’t Expect

We installed our new kiln this month—and honestly, it’s been one of the best gifts I could’ve asked for. No more hauling boxloads of fragile, handmade pieces back and forth between the shop and my private studio. No more nervous drives with trays of masterpieces stacked like precarious pancakes.

Just walking into the back and loading it up felt… like a deep breath I didn’t know I needed.
Time saved. Stress lifted. And a whole lot of creative energy freed up to focus on what matters most.

People Found Us—and That Meant Everything

Even without Winter Wonderlights (which the City of Loveland sadly canceled this year), December at the shop has been incredible. We welcomed so many new faces, and so many of you came back again—bringing friends, family, out-of-town guests, and sweet stories with you.

One of my favorite moments?
A man wandered into the shop one afternoon and just lit up with amazement. He took it all in, asked a few questions, and left with a smile. The next day, he came back with his young son. They picked out a Pegasus from the paint-your-own pottery shelf and sat down to paint together—quietly chatting, laughing, and making memories.

We got it fired in time for Christmas, and I can’t stop thinking about that moment.
Not because it was flashy or big, but because it was real. That little boy and his dad will remember painting that piece together. They’ll remember that it was part of their story. And now, it’s part of ours too.

Beauty in the Mess, and Meaning in the Chaos

December wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t perfect. But it was full of handmade joy. The kind of joy that shows up in crooked mug handles and mismatched ribbon and drying racks full of someone’s “first ever.” The kind that reminds me why I keep showing up—even when I’m exhausted, even when I spill tea on myself (again), even when I wonder if I’m doing any of it “right.”

Because the truth is: I’ve seen magic in this shop. In this studio. In the people who walk through the doors and see something that speaks to them—whether it’s a $12 candle or a handmade bowl that feels like home in their hands.

And that magic? That’s not mine alone. It’s ours.

So From the Bottom of My Clay-Splattered Heart…

Thank you. For showing up. For shopping small. For sharing your stories, your creations, your laughter, your messes, and your memories with us.

Here’s to the moments that matter. To clay on our hands. To glaze droplets on the floor. To the slow and meaningful kind of holiday joy.

Merry Christmas,
❤️ Jen