|Feather Edge 8.6 inch creamware plate, late 18th or early 19th century|
I started writing this post when I heard about the death of Robin Williams. This is not a post about feather edge. I wrote about feather edge for another post titled Shell Edge Or Feather Edge. This post is about the disease called depression. It is a disease that affects many of us. It is not connected to life's adversities, although problems can be triggers. Talk therapy and medication help with the disease. For some it is finding the small things that give us hope and pleasure. I am always reminded of Emily Dickinson's famous poem about hope.*
How lucky we are if we have feathers. For me it is the love of collecting British ceramics, particularly transferware, and my family and friends. Of course, clinical depression is not averted by a love of ceramics, family or anything. Still, we are lucky if we can focus on what we love to help tether us to the world.
*I was first introduced to this poem when I read Woody Allen's 1970s book Without Feathers. The book is filled with humor; sometimes jokey and sometimes black. Humor can be another barricade against depression. It also is not always enough. Rest in peace Robin Williams.