Ponder and Spoon, West Linn, OR (2026)

05/28/2026

These three arrived with personalities already intact.

I didn't plan that. I just followed the wood and this is what came. One is quieter, more contained — the kind that sits on a desk all day and asks for nothing. One leans into you slightly, handle tilted just so, as if it has something to say. The third one is the most playful — a knot landed exactly where it needed to, like a beauty mark it was born with.

These are big enough for a good cuppa, your favorite tea, a little ceremony before the day begins.

I'll have quite a few still to make and they'll be available soon.

05/27/2026

Carving taught me that I have a deep and magical connection with trees.

I didn't know that before. Most trees looked the same to me. I liked the sound of leaves but didn't feel much beyond that. It was only when I started working with wood — really working with it, splitting it open, smelling it, feeling the grain under my hands — that I understood trees as individuals. Each one with its own character, its own story, its own way of pushing back or giving way.

Carving also taught me to look beyond the surface. Beyond the cracks and the imperfections. To see them not as flaws but as part of what something is — the history of a living thing written in wood. I stopped trying to fix what was different and started loving it instead.

And somewhere along the way I learned something about myself too. That I am strong enough to work with such tough, unforgiving material. And gentle enough to listen to it. To take myself out of the way and let the wood guide me.

I am still learning to do that in the rest of my life.

05/22/2026

I was watching out the window when it fell. The whole building shook for a second.

It was strange — just a few days before I'd been looking for ways to get fresh wood, feeling well enough and strong enough to start carving again. And here it was. A whole tree. A few steps away from my chopping block.

I cut a few pieces that had broken off when it fell. They were dry and spalted, which made sense. I understood then why it had come down so suddenly. Such a majestic tree. I used to play cards as a child under those very branches — now stretched out on the ground.

I've been waiting to feel better and start making cups again. Maple is a hard wood to work with, but my desire was stronger. While axing out the first cup, I kept lifting my gaze to look at the tree. I've never made something from a tree that's still right there, with me. I could feel it resting on the ground. Still breathing. Still here.

It's such a magical feeling to make something just a few feet away from the tree itself. I cannot fully explain it.

I feel so honoured and grateful to work with this wood. And to have it live on through these cups I'm making — bringing joy to people, as it once brought joy to me.

05/20/2026

I've been thinking about how the relationships closest to us shape us — the things we learn, absorb, take on without even noticing.

From my mother I learned a particular way of being with my father. More caretaker than companion. Making sure he ate, making sure he was okay, filling the space before he even knew there was a gap.

After the surgery last year, something shifted. That pattern stopped feeling true to me. And when I looked at it honestly, I saw what was underneath it — I didn't trust him to take care of himself in the small things. I was doing it for him before he had the chance to do it for himself.

As I was slowly learning to trust myself to take care of me, I kept bumping into this. That trusting myself and trusting the people I love are part of the same thing.

I still love making food for people. I always will. But these days it comes from wanting to, not from habit or quiet worry. And when I find myself slipping into the old pattern, I just gently remind myself — it's good for both of us when I lean into trust.

For him. For me. For all of it.

05/19/2026

I've been thinking about how strange it is to feel like a stranger in your own life.

Not in a dramatic way. Just quietly. Like you look around at everything you have built, everything you are doing, and somewhere underneath it all there is a small voice asking — is this actually me? Did I choose this, or did I just drift here?

I have been sitting with that question a lot lately. Not trying to answer it. Just letting it be there.

There is something both unsettling and oddly freeing about not knowing yet. Like standing in a doorway. You haven't left the old room and you haven't entered the new one. You are just there, in the in-between, feeling the air from both sides.

I think I have been in that doorway for a while now. And I am slowly starting to be okay with that.

05/12/2026

I finally washed the window in my room this week. It still amazes me that it's the same room I grew up in. I did it on a Sunday and there are still some streaks on it. Neither bother me anymore.

As I write this, my desk is full of supplement bottles and freshly sharpened tools. An organised chaos I have gotten used to over the last year of healing.

Organic cherry tomatoes are still ripening on the windowsill — my love affair with Lidl continues. That and black sesame paste, which is probably what helped me gain back more than ten kilos since November.

I am still baking bread, but these days it is fermented buckwheat and the occasional black bean brownie. Today I tried a sweet potato one. We will see how that goes.

I have fourteen cups waiting to be made and some days that feels daunting. But I know I will go slow. One by one. The joy of holding each finished one will carry me through.

If all of this is leaving you wondering who I am — my name is Andreea. I am an artist, reconnecting with my passion for making joyful wooden objects, and also my body and my heart, via a clear message from a wee bit of cancer.

woodworker authenticliving introduceyourself makersgonnamake womenhealing

05/11/2026

There is something that happens the moment I split a log open.

Before I do anything else, I close my eyes and inhale. Every time. I cannot help it. The wood has a whole story in that smell — where it grew, what season it fell, what the earth around it tasted like. Some logs make me cry. Plum did that once. I wasn't expecting it.

I haven't been able to carve much this past year. The pain and the exhaustion had other plans for my hands. I missed it in a way I didn't expect — not just the making, but the particular kind of quiet that comes with it. The way everything else stops for a while.

Coming back to it recently has felt like running into an old friend. A little tender. A little shy. And underneath all of that, something that feels very close to joy.

womenhealing authenticliving woodworker presentmoment

05/07/2026

Life after chemotherapy is a mix of celebration and moments of worry.

My armpits started to smell this week. And for the first time in months I am sweating again. I stood there and just smiled at myself, because it means my body finally has room to process everything that has happened. The toxins, the grief, the months of holding on.

Emotions are popping up at random times too. Waves of anxiety. Memories of the operation flooding me during the day and in my dreams. My joints ache and I am still learning what food is gentle on my tummy, still figuring out what is healing and what is just my body being newly sensitive to everything.

I have gained over twenty pounds since November. Today I looked in the mirror and thought — hmm, I think my thighs are getting too big. And I felt sad saying that.

Then earlier I was looking for some photos and found ones from November. So scary thin. I remember looking at my body back then and not recognising her.

I am looking at my body these days and not recognising her still.

But my goodness I love her. I love how strong she has been through all of it. Speaking to me the best she could, hoping I would listen. Hoping I would understand.

These days I find myself celebrating the strength and learning to love the new weaknesses. Trusting that we can both overcome them.

04/25/2026

Results are in.

🙏🏼💚SEVERE SHRINKAGE💚🙏🏼

There are still some small traces in the abdomen and a millimetre spot on the liver.
Everything else looks good.

This coming Monday we run some tests again and I’ll ask the doctor about the next steps. Just immunotherapy and the targeted drug or more chemo until it’s all clear.

I will keep doing all the alternative treatments alongside the conventional. That part will be a life-long maintenance thing.

Even with all the good news, I feel tender. An odd mix of grateful and sad. Maybe just tired after all the physical and emotional effort.

Thank you all for your support this far. Financial and all the encouragement. It's a long and hard journey this one and with you by my side to lean on, doable.

04/23/2026

I kept myself busy this week.

The reason: I finished chemo treatment two weeks ago and had a CT scan on Monday. Tomorrow I get the results. I've felt a lot of anxiety in this waiting time.

So I made cups.

Because they take a lot of effort, patience and time to make, and they bring me so much joy after I finish each one.

The result of being stressed has affected my digestion which has brought more anxiety thinking that something is wrong.

I have learned how much of a role the nervous system plays in healing and keeping healthy.

I tried to move the stress out of my body, acknowledge it first (after a day of eating chocolate bean brownies, which have become a favorite lately) and the give it voice through journaling and also moving it out with actual movement, dancing, breath, jumping, whatever feels good.

And now I have two cups done and a third 90% finished.

I still feel some anxiety thinking about tomorrow and am holding the part of me that feels that way, leaning into the ones that feel peace and calm. Taking some dee breaths in. feeling my belly relax.

I'm one of those that instinctively hides from uncomfortable feelings through work or yummy food. And I am actively learning to feel and let go instead.

It's one of the many lessons cancer taught me...

04/15/2026

A couple of days ago I had my last chemo treatment of the 6 sessions. I felt lighter and some relief to have gotten here. It's been so long since I started and so much has happened. Most of it was a day by day kind of thing and it still feels like it. Cancer changed me in ways I didn't anticipate. I feel more present, more resilient and yet the side-effects are still lingering, so I still feel tender, both physically and emotionally.

Tomorrow I am having a full-body CT scan to see how things are look. I feel some anxiety about it. I'll have the results in a couple of weeks I think.

Once I have the results, and if all is well, I will continue with immunotherapy (Avastin) in the hospital, infusions every three weeks, and because I am BRACA positive, I will also take another medicine Olaparib (pills). They both have a list of possible side-effects and I am very much hoping to navigate this next chapter (two years) with none of the side-effects.

I will also continue the alternative therapy and supplements to support my body and immune system, and stop the feeding pathways of the cancer.

The treatments, the hospital bills and the continue recovery and adjusting, it will all be a big financial expense. I will try to make spoons as much as I can. That will help to pay for a wee bit. I also ask for and welcome your support, if you can and have the means to help financially. The go fund me campaign is still open. Or pay pal, ven mo, direct transfer. Anything would help.

Speaking of, I made two serving spoons and put them on the website if you'd like them. Next I'll be slowly making some cups. They take a while to make as they are a lot of work.

Thank you for being with me all this time. For your support and love. For your encouragement. I am so grateful for you. It would've been so much harder without you.

Love,
me

Ponder and Spoon

05/28/2026

05/27/2026

05/22/2026

05/20/2026

05/19/2026

05/12/2026

05/11/2026

05/07/2026

04/25/2026

04/23/2026

04/15/2026

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