Another No Title

I woke up last night to the sound of a cat vomiting. Jack used to vomit a lot. Maurice hardly ever does. But of course it was Maurice who was suffering gastric distress. She's been a very faithful bed companion since Glen's been gone, generally showing up to greet me from the bed when I get out of the shower. She looks at me with those sleepy cat eyes, blinking the way sleepy cat eyes do, and I am grateful for her company. Last night she came up beside my head for a moment, which she rarely does. 
"Kiss?" I asked her. She darted her little head forward and although our lips did not touch, they got pretty close. Three more times I asked for kisses and three more times she responded. Jack used to do that too. Then she settled down near my knees and we went to sleep until, as I said, she started horking something out and I was too sleepy to even try and determine where she was leaving the contents of her stomach and knew it would still be there when I woke up. 
And it was. 
Right on Mr. Moon's side of the bed, luckily on the quilt which I don't even pull down on his side when he's gone. It was still rather dark when I got up but I quickly realized that whatever Maurice had vomited had been killed and eaten not long before it came back up. 
Another obvious case of TOO MUCH NATURE! 
I dealt with it before I even put my glasses on. No need to see that mess clearly. And I threw the quilt in the washer.
And I was just feeling so grateful she hasn't brought me any fresh game since Mr. Moon's been gone, which she generally does. I guess she actually did, she just delivered it in a different manner.
Sigh.

Pottery again today and once again I came away feeling inadequate and unteachable. I did make what is called a "slab" bowl by rolling out clay and fitting it inside an already made bowl, using that as a form. My teacher was a little aghast at the fact that I put nothing in the bowl to prevent the clay from sticking to the form. Of course, I'd gotten this idea and the basic instructions online and neither of the two potters I saw making bowls used anything to prevent sticking and I told Gail this. 
"Yes, but they don't show when the potter ends up tossing the broken mess in the trash!" 
True. They did not.

However, after leaving the bowl in the bowl outside in the sun for awhile, the clay bowl did come out beautifully. I mean, came out of the other bowl, not "came out" as in looking great or anything. 

 Yes, yes, it is very thick but I haven't trimmed the rim of it yet and it's not quite as thick as it looks. I'll do that next week. It will then be fired, but since it's the last class, I'll have to go by and pick it up after the initial bisque fire and bring it home to take back to glaze when I go back to classes. 
This is the plan. 
At least the bowl is relatively round. 

Here are the pottery daughters, working on their things. 

That's our teacher up there behind Lily. She's a hoot. 

After class we of course went to lunch and today, Hank joined us. We ate at the local seafood place and it was good, as always. 
I stopped by Publix on my way home to get the things from my list I'd forgotten on Monday, none of which were emergencies. Things like oatmeal and brown sugar. I saw Tom on my way in. He is still alive, still moving, although agonizingly slowly. Anybody else in this entire world who could afford it would have gotten a motorized wheelchair or at least a walker by now but not our Tom. And we don't even bring it up with him. He does use a cane. We spoke for a few minutes and he was carrying his cloth bags, doing his bit for the environment, even now. You gotta respect that. 

When I got home, there was absolutely nothing I felt motivated to do. I suppose I'm tired. There was no way in hell I was going to go work outside. It was all I could do to take out the compost and pick a few arugula leaves. So all I did was sit here and read things about Trump's first one hundred days in office and I became so quietly enraged and sorrowful that whatever leavening had been in my soul fell flat and nothing that I could think of doing felt as if it had any meaning or purpose at all. 

This is dangerous thinking because if left unchecked, it can lead to feeling as if my entire life has no meaning or purpose and then the self-recrimination builds and blah, blah, blah, wah, wah, wah. 
It ain't good. 

Tomorrow is Jessie's birthday and she and I may do something together although at this point, neither of us has any firm ideas on what that should be. I could tell that she had the blues today and I often feel that way too on my children's birthdays. I think that's because I remember the days they were born so clearly, those experiences absolutely part of my blood and bones, and they were the most intense and joyful days of my life and yet, I grieve for those days long past now. For those perfect babies, our shared long hours of birthing and being born now over, holding them, studying their faces in wonder, watching them studying me. 
Hello there. Here you are. Finally. I have always known you, I think, and now here you are. 
And also- this is love. 

And nothing is ever the same again. 

Tomorrow I will probably retell the story of Jessie's birth which was truly just about the ultimate in what a home birth can be, or, I'll post a link to when I told it before. 

Rainbows and magnolias were involved. 
No. Really. 

Love...Ms. Moon