I Talk Too Much

Pottery day starts early. The class begins at 9:30 but no one cares if you come in late. So there's really no pressure but you do want to take advantage of all the hours in the studio you are given. So I get up at 7:00 and attend to my needs and my rituals before I leave for town around 8:40, usually. It takes maybe a half hour to get to Jessie's and I like to talk to her sweet pup, Sophie, for a minute and Jessie's usually still getting ready and cleaning up her kitchen. Of course she's already gotten up, made sure the boys are fed and appropriately dressed for the weather and gotten to school before I get there. 
Did I used to do that every day? 
Yes. Yes I did. 
Do I know how I did it?
No. No I do not. 
I was running a little behind this morning and I blame that on the weather. It was freezing (literally) when I got up and at first I dressed in whatever was at hand and warm and then later I had to change into something warm but that was presentable for town although there are no dress codes at pottery. This morning I wore my blue overalls, a black thermal shirt with a very, very lovely and lime green sweater (re-sale shop cashmere!) over it, and a practically antique black velvet coat. 
With Crocs.
I told Jessie that I looked like an illustration on how NOT to shop at thrift stores for your outfits. 

Oh well. Who cares? Not me.

I spent the entire two and a half hours in class working on the latest flower bowl I'm trying to make that I started last week. My idea for the formation of it is not bad but my ability to translate that vision into an actual piece that will withstand the heat of the kiln and look halfway decent is not up to speed on what I'm seeing in my head. So I rolled out clay and I cut out shapes and I scored the pieces I needed to stick together and I tried to stick them together with what is called "slip" which is a mixture of clay and water that is like a glue if done correctly. 
Oh, y'all. 
Well. We'll see what the mess looks like next week. It may or may not be worthy of glazing and firing. All will be revealed. 

Jessie worked on the bowls she made last week, trimming them. That is an entire process itself and must be done with care and attention. I think she did an amazing job. 

Lizzie was there and she reported that she and her gentleman friend had a wonderful time on their trip to New York and that she really enjoyed meeting his family. Another woman in the class asked her if she'd said the word. 
Now I thought the word was love because I'm a romantic in many ways but no, the word had been fuck and yes, she did say that word but the world did not end nor did the family shun her. 
Hurray! Success!

After class we met Lily at an Indian restaurant and had a very good lunch. We talked and talked, as we do, and many topics were covered. We even started to discuss Thanksgiving but we didn't get very far with that one. I'm sure by the time the day rolls around, we will have figured it out. 

After lunch I did something I should NOT have done which was to go to Old Navy which was almost right across the street from the restaurant with the goal in mind of finding a pair of jeans that fit. I say I should NOT have done that because there is nothing that can make you feel as if despite the fact that you have lost a good amount of weight, you still are not at the jeans-wearing stage. 
Dammit but I hate still having feelings like this at the age of 71. So that sucked. And it's all so ridiculous and relative. One moment I'm feeling somewhat svelte and sylph-like and the next I'm, well, not feeling somewhat svelte and sylph-like. 

On to the bank to drop off some documents where a lady probably about my age stopped me and said, "I LOVE your coveralls! I really, really do!" 
I asked her if she'd like to know where I got them and she definitely did and so I told her. I gave her my little speech about how durable they are, how handy all the pockets are, how well made they are. If I got a commission every time I sent someone to Duluth Trading Company, I'd have a nice little bit of pocket change. 
Alas, I do it all for love. 

I needed to go stop by Publix and I did, and the sweetest thing that happened there was a woman called me "pretty lady" and I said, "NO! You're the pretty lady!" And she was. 

Lord knows I needed those two encounters after the devastating reality of trying on jeans in an actual dressing room in an actual retail store and I am so grateful for them.

Glen sent me pictures of the Aurora Borealis last night. 

 I discovered this morning there is a real possibility that if I'd gone outside right here last night, I might have seen them too. 

Looks like shit's going down in Washington tonight. I won't even try to predict what this release of the Epstein files is going to mean. Every bit of what's happened in the past few years has exceeded any of the wildest imaginings I could have had and I have a pretty good imagination. Then again, I never would have predicted that the Aurora Borealis could be observed from Florida either.

Here's the soup I made last night. 

And naan bread to go with. Making soup and bread keep me grounded. Or at least within range of grounded. Almost. Sort of. 

Better than nothing. 

Love...Ms. Moon