Why'd It Have to Be

I think everyone in my Universe already knows, but the son was bitten by a rattlesnake this weekend.  Doing "ok", recovery will take a bit.   Climate change, like a vengeful St. Patrick, has driven the snakes out of their homes from the recent epic floods out in the Southwest.

We never want to go through anything remotely like this again.  Snakes!  Why'd it have to be snakes?

Namaste

Fruit Bombes

It was the weirdest sound; as I was sitting at the table having a coffee break, there was the strangest noise.  A bit like paper ripping, but not quite, a bit like something soft and slushy letting go.  Nothing seemed amiss so I finished reading the paper.  Getting up there was liquid on the floor, with a very peculiar odor and it had flooded the kitchen counter to drip off and form a huge puddle.  My favorite summer cookbook laid open with tonight's supper inspiration had acted as a blotter and was swollen with sticky fluid, the cover and pages completely stuck in one soggy mass.  The culprit was a watermelon I'd just brought home the day before, it had split along the entire bottom and an amazingly large amount of the water had gushed forth to make a mess.  I've never had this happen before, it was thumping solid when I checked at the grocery, so what gives with this?

 So after an unexpected kitchen cleaning, it was time to get on with the day.  There is a load of bisque waiting to be glazed and fired in the kiln.  This is the part of ceramics I like the least, it is sometimes a moment of paralyzing angst over which glazes to use and how to go about it.  Much time was lost in contemplation before going to the oracle, as The Spousal Unit calls google, and of course Pinterest - the black hole of time - was researched as well.  A week later!!  I am finally ready to begin, the bottoms are waxed to repel glaze so they don't become a permanent attachment to the kiln shelves, and the glazes are stirred and ready to dip.  Truly, for those of us who struggle to deny the hobgoblin of perfection control of our lives, it is hard work to just DO.

There are 10 batches of soap curing and waiting for wrapping and labels before my next sale.  The mingling of fragrances is not overwhelming, but lovely and fresh and lightens the spirit.

This rainy weather isn't the best inspiration to work, ennui has taken hold of my ambition and there is a growing stack of books calling to be read.  There is an online subscription service that offers free or greatly reduced ebooks every day, let me tell you it is really the Gateway to Total Sloth.  My reading que grows with each dawn, I am beginning to consider permanently giving up sleep to get through this bounty.

• The House We Grew Up In by Lisa Jewell
• Until The Sun Falls by Cecelia Holland
• Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West by Daniel Ladinsky
• The Pearl that Broke It's Shell by Nadia Hashimi
• The Valley of Amazement by Amy Tan
• Longitude by Dava Sobel

As my son would gently chide, "Mother, that is such a First World problem".  He's so very right.  I am grateful for the gift of leisure, for the company of friends, my everyday jobs and hobbies that bring me pleasure.  Joy can be found even in the mundane, if we open ourselves up to the task.  I am grateful for the bounty of our food, even for leaky melons destined for compost.

Namaste

A little slice of Paradise

 We had a busy weekend of chores, a lot of yard work to reestablish the lawn after a busy winter of voles tunneling hither and yon.  The Spousal Unit takes a lot of pride in his grass, and I finally have him onboard with organic treatments and an electric mower.  He unplugged the sediment from our pond and has the pump running again for our little water feature.  Stanley and Stella have returned to their private Golden Pond despite my warning about sharing with us.  The lily of the valley bloomed and has such wonderful perfume, the wood violets have spread from a tiny clump I transported from my parents home before it was sold, and now covers the wild part of our yard.  Our golden raindrops flowering crab tree was spectacular, and absolutely covered with bees!  I was so excited to see their busy activities, and hope it is an omen of the bees recovery.  We tore up old plants that had been bred with neonincotinoids and replanted with healthy specimens that have no insecticide.  I was mortified that the very things intended to nurture the bees and butterflies were actually poisoning them.

There is such a ripple effect for all that we do to our natural world, it all has consequences.  Our yard is where the birds come for their natural diet, under the leafy loam hide their bugs and grubs.  The ducks and geese are welcome, and they find cover from the eagles and hawks in the undergrowth.

I watched either a hawk or an osprey swoop down and scoop up a large fish, and then sit on a branch in a tree to enjoy a meal.  Tracks in the shore show a martin or fisher has been there, and the usual posse of raccoons as well.  After a rainy Sunday the temperatures plummeted over 30 degrees, it is windy and just plain cold today, which encouraged me to plunge into some good old fashion housekeeping, nothing like the arrival of first time guests to get the mop and dust cloths flying!

Time to dig out the recipe files and get the shopping list for dinner's pulled pork sandwiches and baked french toast for the next morning.  One lesson my mother imprinted on me was always have a clean home, and never send a guest away hungry for either food or your pleasure in their company.

Our son has established a tower of critters in his home, positioned to keep watch on the comings and goings on his street.  Miscreants had best beware, there's some serious demands for pettings in that house.  Mac appears to be wearing a feathered headdress, but the son says there are toys affixed to the structure and he is merely posed by one.  The top perch is occupied by cat Raleigh, on the lowest platform is the wee Yorkie, Rocky (as in Balboa of Philly fame).  He may be small in stature but has the heart of a lion.  Rocky also has a bit of gender and species confusion, he presents himself to the cats for affection.  They have, so far, declined to become romantically involved.

Namaste

Back to the Past

Trying to be careful so as not to attract the kind of attention that was the demise of our first blog, there is a wonderful post by another blogger on my blog list on the right hand column.  Check out Little Grey Bungalow for a delightful riposte to the kerfuffle taking place in Texas concerning the planned summer training missions, and the nutters who believe they are being invaded by the people who employ my son.

We should really be buying stock in aluminum foil, they must be making an awful lot of shiny hats down there.

I Can Make That!

 I first fell for this delusion as a high schooler, when the Lee Wards catalog would arrive, and all the craft projects in it's sleek glossy pages sang their siren song.  Fortunately for my wallet, I was of very limited financial means and could order few items.  My long suffering mother graciously carried her canvas purse that I bedazzled with plastic gems, and the cross stitched linens, crocheted cape, and woven pot holders found recipients as well.  It would be years before  the community ed class that introduced my hands to clay would be the start of a lifetime love affair.

This spring, bottle forms have become a bit of an obsession, from small soy and syrup bottles to larger oil bottles for the stove top, to growlers that can hold a very large amount of beer.  No one in my life drinks that much beer, but it hasn't stopped me from making one after another.  I am in search of a market,  has anyone had success with the online sales sites?  These are hefty affairs, for the strong of arm, and will be truly weighty once filled with a beverage.  At least the thick walls will hold the cold in on a warm summer day.  And there's nothing to prevent one from using them for lemonade or tea or anything else that pours.

We had a wonderful rain last night and today was a bit wet as well, very much needed with so much of our state being in a drought.  Our lake is shallow and far from our dock again this year, grass and weeds have begun to grow on the shore where it is usually water.  Little peeps and cheeps drew me to the window to see a mother duck herding her little group of ducklings through the garden - isn't it a bit early for them to have hatched?  The Spousal Unit had to drain our garden pond to discourage a mallard couple from setting their nest by our patio furniture.  When the female flew off in search of a more suitable place for her eggs her mate quacked his distress, Stanley calling to his Stella.  TSU thinks it is weird to have named them, the man may be a genius but he is sadly lacking in imagination.  Of course they have names, everything has a name.

Since the kiln was running overnight and it was too hot to work in the studio, today was a soap making day.  A log of coconut milk soap and one of carrot/honey with orange essential oil are cooling on the counter.  They smell so good - so different from the chemical undertones of commercial soap, I have become quite the activist for natural products!  The same lovely women who invited me to their fall holiday sale have extended an invite to join them in June for their Art in the Garden sale with my soaps and balms and soy candles.

What are you doing with your creative side this week Gentle Readers?

Namaste.

It's Tour Time

There's something intriguing about complex forms, like this oil bottle that is a combination of a hand rolled textured slab with a thrown funnel spout, thrown base, and a pulled handle.  It has a wonderful blush from the flash of flame and soda, there is no actual glaze on the outside but is my favorite oil bottle.  Today was a day of intermittent rain, the perfect excuse to sequester myself in the clay studio and work on several projects.  Two larger bottles like this are in the works that are big enough to be called beer growlers.  And I'm working on butter dishes again, this time the french two piece crock with water to keep the butter fresh.  Making functional kitchen ware that someone will use in their daily rituals, for tea or coffee, cereal or soup or salad, trays for bread or fruits are all part of an intimacy to share a part of the creative process in finished form.  Just as a writer puts words to shape ideas and thoughts, the potter's hand shapes clay to hold something sacred in it's hollow places.  It is the negative space that creates the void we can fill with food, or flowers to brighten a table.

The weather this week cooperated for putting new plants into our gardens, and the tulips stood proud in their red glory, defiant of the rabbits that trimmed their numbers at night.  The liquid fence I sprayed might just as well have been salad dressing, for all the deterrence it offered.  This is the first spring in 39 years that I have not had a dog to protect our yard - it is a hard thing, to adjust to her absence.

Tomorrow is the annual St. Croix Valley Pottery Tour weekend, it is the holy grail of studio tours here in the midwest, with 7 host potters and 47 invited potters from across the nation.  We will drive north and work our way from studio to studio, set in lovely woods and along the river, visiting with friends and soaking in the inspiration and delight of so many styles and ideas.  Some of the potters are very generous with their knowledge, some of the hosts offer lunch to their guests, or cookies, or even craft beer or wine.  It's a great celebration of life, of pots, of friendships and being part of this wonderful world.  There will be music too, and many pleasures for the eyes.

Namaste

Blossom Time

The blossoms have opened on the flowering trees here on the edge of the prairie, the crab apples, and cherries and mock orange.  A neighbor has a tree with a conical bloom that has a heavenly fragrance, I wish to bottle it for the bleak days of deprivation in February.

The peepers have also hatched, and their song was a delight this morning until a car show moved into the park across the street and we thought we'd loose our minds to the deep thrumming low bass sounds of a car stereo that went on and on for hours.  It was such a low frequency tone I think my heart rhythm was permanently altered - it sounded like the soundtrack from an end of the world movie where the alien apocalypse has occurred.
 
I don't know why people think constant noise is desirable, to those of us who enjoy the sounds of nature and the wind and birds, the cacophony that intrudes from cars and ice cream trucks is almost enough to send us to an asylum.

Today the platters I threw on Wednesday popped off their batts and were ready to trim with a neat and tidy foot.  The potter who gave a workshop this weekend showed a many layered technique of glazing, now after a paper resist and black underglaze coat I will do the initial bisque firing, then glaze, a wax resist pattern and second glaze for contrast.  She's also noted for her garden stacks, or totems, and I have all sorts of ideas my hands are eager to translate lumps of clay into more totems.  I only have four in the yard at the moment (!).  Would it be tacky to put a tasteful sign near the curb offering them for sale?

In a moment of garden victory, the tulips survived from bulb to bloom,  despite the voracious rabbits that inhabit our neighborhood.  I was all set to take a few photos when an afternoon thunderstorm rolled in with thunder and a heavy downpour - tomorrow I will get a picture of them in all their red glory.  Namaste.