I'd like to talk about my neighbour Mrs Fernández, who lives below us in Guadalajara, in Mexico. She's seventy-three and a retired bank clerk.
About two years ago, she took up pottery. There's a community workshop near the market that runs morning classes for adults, and she signed up for a beginners' course. Now she goes three times a week, and her balcony is full of slightly uneven bowls and plant pots.
The reason she started is actually quite moving. Her husband passed away a few years ago, and she told my mother that the house felt far too quiet. Her doctor suggested she find something to do with her hands, partly because she had some stiffness in her fingers and partly, I think, to get her out of the house. She'd always admired the traditional pottery from Tlaquepaque, which is close to where we live, so she decided to give it a go, even though she was sure she'd be terrible.
It's changed her life quite a lot. Physically, she says her hands are much less stiff, because working the clay is like exercise for her fingers. Socially, she's made a whole new circle of friends. Most of the class are younger, including a couple of university students, and they've started having coffee together after the lessons. And emotionally, she just seems lighter. She used to sit by her window for hours; now she's always rushing out with a bag of tools. Last Christmas she gave everyone in the building a small hand-painted cup. Mine's a bit lopsided, but I use it every day.