Please Don't Read This If You're Depressed Unless You Need To Know You're Not The Only One

He made it. KC, the man whose name so many of you found for me showed up late this afternoon and I was incredibly relieved. He was polite and asked me how our Christmas had been but he was not nearly as convivial or gregarious as was on his last visit. I suppose this is what happens when you deliver propane gas for a living in an area which is in the midst of a major cold spell. Everyone probably puts off getting gas until they realize it's going to be below freezing for several nights in a row and then they frantically try to get some fuel in the tank before their pet goldfish's bowl freezes solid. 
Well. Anyway. I have turned the thermostat up to the more tropical realm of 67° although we always turn it down about four degrees lower than that at night. 

Speaking of low, I have been feeling rather flat these last few days. I mean, who hasn't, right? I think it's quite possible that I have not left Lloyd in a week. I know I went to pottery last Wednesday but as far as I can remember and as far as my posts seem to report, I've been right here. 
The point is that I've been hiding or hibernating or rolling up into a ball like a doodlebug who has been threatened by a child's probing finger. And I've done nothing of value or interest in that whole time. A little mending and patching, a little jig-saw puzzling, a little laundry, cooking, dusting, sweeping, and putting Seminole Indian dolls on the wall. I promise you that all of these things could have fit into one day, the keyword being "little". 

I started wondering this afternoon if it wasn't near the anniversary date of my mother's death and so I looked that up on the blog by searching for "Mother's death," and easily discovered she died on January 16, 2013. I cannot believe it's been thirteen years. 
Thirteen years since that day I was with her in the hospital as she took her last breaths. I wrote it all out on the day after her death and that can be found HERE if you're interested. It is not graphic or weird or anything. Just a plain recounting of her last moments. It's funny that what I remember so strongly is that "Sister Morphine" by the Rolling Stones was playing in my head which was appropriate because of course they had given her morphine at the end to ease what they call "air hunger" and I was in the middle of my journey of discovery about Keith Richards and, well, that was the sound track to the death of my mother for me. 

Yes. It is true. The body remembers. It remembers anniversaries, it remembers what our minds do not and perhaps have even tried to cast aside, to bury deep in steel boxes strapped with iron bands locked with fierce determination, the keys as lost as we can lose them. 

I do not even need to mention the madness of the man who would be king and who is finally being called out by other world leaders as insane and as such, a person who cannot be reasoned or negotiated with but who must be stopped before the entire world falls into the same horror that began in Hitler's Germany. 

Still, I feel as if instead of falling into any sort of immovable darkness, I should be doing the things you're supposed to do in the face of times like this. Move your body, get involved, GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.

Thank god I have pottery tomorrow. That is exactly what I need. I will get up early, I will drink my coffee. I will put in my hearing aids so that I can hear what is being said in the studio around me. I will focus on something that has nothing to do with my mother, my country, my fears, my regrets, my guilt, myself. 

Look what I found today. 

The trillium. In going back and looking at old posts from this time of year, I saw my photos of it then and wondered if it had come up already this year. 
And it has. 
The bed it's in is a complete mess, a chaos of weeds and frozen ferns and downed oak branches and browned pinecone lily stems but there it is, alive and well and beautiful and strong and showing proof of the continuation of life. 

And then there was this. 

Look up, look up, don't stop looking up. 

And having said all of these things, I cannot stop watching this. 

I think it is probably one of the best live videos ever taken of the Rolling Stones and I'm trying to describe how I see this song, this performance, as a testimony to the depths to which we can fall and yet, rise out of. Make art of. Help some of us come to terms with things we find impossible to understand. 

I'm a mess. 

Love...Ms. Moon

A Cold Day In The Hell Of Our Reality

Well, as I said to my kids in a text this morning, we have no pumpkins but if we did, the frost would be upon them. That's what it looked like in my backyard when I got up. When I tried to open the screen door on the back porch to go outside and take a picture, I realized it had been frozen shut with some of the standing rain on the steps we'd gotten yesterday. I had to give the door a good kick to open it. That was new. 

The frost thawed not long after that because the sun was fully shining, but it never got warm enough to suit me. I am going through massive anxiety because the gauge on our propane tank is way down in the red area and although Glen has called the propane guy twice now, we've still seen no truck show up with the magical hose that stretches for half a mile to go over the fence and down into the tank where the life-saving liquid is stored. The man at the gas company guaranteed Glen that his driver/deliverer would be here either today or tomorrow. 
I guess it's going to be tomorrow. 
I surely hope so. 
Do you remember me recently (as in the past six months) writing a post about the gas delivery guy? The man who was so kind, so sweet, so empathetic, so beautifully and proudly loc'ed? The man who told me he was freezing because he grew up in Jamaica and he was not used to this cold? The man who had played college football at Stetson University? 
Obviously, the man made a huge impression on me and yet, I cannot remember his name and I cannot find the post I wrote about him. I've done searches for "propane gas," "gas delivery," "locs," "kind strangers," and I don't even know what and I can't find a damn thing. Except for the fact that this is definitely not the first time I've gone a little bit crazy worrying that the tank will run dry and I shall die of exposure and frostbite. 

And of course Mr. Moon is back up at the cabin (which he is now regularly calling the camp) and I feel a little deserted in my hour of darkness although what the hell could he do if we did run out of gas? So I've set the thermostat down to 66° and am keeping my fake-fleece-lined hoody on over my long sleeved shirt, long sleeved sweater, and long-sleeved cardigan. He tells me that the heater up at the camp works quite well. He is doing more painting and told me this morning that he wants to get the bedroom all fixed up so that I'll come and stay with him and I made some not very convincing "Ummmm's" and hugged him tightly and well, I am hoping like hell that between a lovely very pale green bedroom and a kitchen with a brand new stove and very cool Fiesta Ware I will indeed be lured into being okay with the concept. Of course, he needs to get that downstairs bathroom finished too before this finicky princess even considers such an idea. 
And I am a woman who has not only camped where we had to dig our own latrines and was fine with that, but also lived in a house for almost a year that had no running water which meant we used an outhouse. Which snakes took shelter in. 
As did wasps. 

Well. 

I watched most of a movie today that I have been meaning to watch since it came out. Pamela Anderson's "The Last Show Girl." I don't know why it's taken me so long. My god. Pamela Anderson doesn't miss a beat. You do not catch her acting. She IS the character. 

Jamie Lee Curtis is also in the film and although she does a fine job, I've never found Jamie Lee to be completely convincing in her roles. I love her politics, her outspokenness when it comes to queer rights, her heart which is most definitely in the right place but the fact is- I DO catch her acting. I can see her trying her hardest to inhabit a role which is admirable but somehow, in this case, it does not work for me. 
Still, I sort of love her character. 

The movie asks the question of what happens to a woman who has based her entire life, sacrificed everything, in the name of beauty and youth as she ages? Who has based her self-worth on the things men worship and is now losing? 
It's powerful. 
Pamela Anderson is a force and that's not something I ever thought I'd say. 

I've made a pot of pinto beans, my favorite, and cooked some rice which is going to go into a spinach and rice casserole that I love. That will be supper tonight. I had what I thought might be a hankering for a big salad at lunch and did my chopping and slicing, and mixed miso and rice wine vinegar and garlic and ginger and other delicious things to make a dressing and, well... it was okay. But bottom line is, I've had a lot of vegetables today and a bowl of beans and a dish of comfort casserole is just what I need. 

Another picture of Lloyd on a cold morning in January. 

Thinking of Martin Luther King, Jr today, of course. Hoping with all my heart that the  things he accomplished in his way too short life will not have been in vain as a completely insane man has the reins of the country which Dr. King wouldn't even recognize today. 
Or perhaps he would. 
We should hang our heads in shame. We should raise our voices in protest in whatever way we can. We should remember and honor King and all of those who marched and protested and faced the guns and slavering dogs so bravely with the determination of knowing that what they were marching for, risking their lives for, was the generations to follow as well as the generations who came before. 

Love...Ms. Moon
 

A Dreary Sunday But Still Okay

Jessie and Vergil found this lovely couch in their neighborhood by the side of the road. There was another couch and a decent looking lounge there too. They scooped this one up and brought it home and the boys organized their toy room to fit it in. As Jessie said in her text when she sent us the picture, "The sides are torn up from cat scratches but that works well with our aesthetic." 
We are not casual spenders around here. Nor do we overly value the new. We search for the classics and when we find them at great prices, or, better yet, FREE! we are happy. 
Could those boys and Sophie look any cozier on a brand new sofa from a designer furniture company? I think that may be the best picture of Ms. Sophie ever taken. The girl knows how to work a pose, does she not?

Well. The weather here was dreadful for most of the day and then suddenly, in the later afternoon, the sun came out and the sky turned blue whereas five hours before the forecast had called for sleet for the next hour. Some parts of North Florida got a little snow but we didn't. I'm not even sure we got sleet but we sure did get rain. It's supposed to be clear tomorrow but it's going to get even colder. This winter stuff is stressful. It takes so long to get dressed in the morning! 
You got your socks, your however-many-layers of shirts and sweaters and jackets, then your britches or overalls, finally your shoes. And of course if you go outside, you need more jackets and a coat. How do y'all do it? If it got Ohio cold here or Canada cold here or Pennsylvania cold here, I'd just stay in bed all winter. Either that or I'd have one small room with a wood stove (and of course I'd have central heat, too) and I'd just huddle in there all day, feeding the fire and wrapping myself in blankets and phoning for pizza delivery. 

I am really, really boring this evening. I didn't do a damn thing that was constructive after I made our breakfast. Mr. Moon passed on the dawn duck hunting and subsequent he-man breakfast with the guys and so this was the first Sunday breakfast I'd made in a long time. I was worried I'd forgotten how to make biscuits but they turned out all right. Of course we didn't eat until noon but, oh well. Mr. Moon never eats lunch on Sunday anyway, preferring to have a huge bowl of popcorn that he makes in the Whirley Pop. He has his routine down pat, melting the butter, getting out the salt and nutritional yeast, layering the butter, salt, and yeast over the popped corn in the bowl in order to ensure that all of the corn is equally coated with the good stuff. I laugh at him but I really shouldn't- we both have our habits and routines and we do hate to break them. I'm far worse than he is. 

I think tonight I'll make this quite brief. I'd like to get supper on the table before we perish of hunger although Mr. Moon should be good for at least a few more hours after all that popcorn. I'm making some fish and grits and cooking some artichokes. I don't usually serve artichokes with fish and grits (don't call the southern cooking police on me, please) but if I don't cook those things they're going to dry up and shrivel into nothingness. I believe there will be some yellow squash with onions too. This will all take a little time so I better get to it. 

I am so grateful to have such a sweet, warm home and sweet, warm  husband on this cold night. I wonder if Maurice will sleep on my legs as she did last night as I dreamed every one of my dream tropes. All of the usual elements were involved, including the huge, museum-like house with all the rooms. I was trying to explain the house to someone, telling them that there were rooms that still had the old clothes in the closets, the original sheets on the beds, make-up and hair brushes on the vanities, and jewelry in the jewelry boxes. Whoever I was talking to about it wasn't really listening so I gave up. The stepfather was there and so that was a lot of angst, and somehow he was at fault for me not having the right food to cook for Thanksgiving (once again), and oh yes, there'd been some sort of school event for the children and I got roped into cooking for that too, but in this case, in a big industrial kitchen. My old therapist was there. I got lost driving around in an ancient car. I was taking care of a small child whom I KNEW needed to be potty trained and was absolutely sure he or she was old enough and mature enough for that to happen. This is a rather new addition to my list of things to dream about. I don't think Glen left me for the black-haired, truck driving bitch in this dream but I know I had a lot of laundry to do. 
Somehow it all blended together, not seamlessly, but in the way it often does. 
Oh. I forgot to mention all the heavy machinery being used to clear land and build new roads. 

I must worry a lot. 

There is a lot to worry about these days. Too much to worry about. So possibly these dreams are just a distraction to keep me from obsessing about the real horrors. I do not know. 

Meanwhile, stay warm unless you're in the down-under portion of the planet in which case I hope you stay cool. 

Love...Ms. Moon

  

More Dolls On Walls, Spider Plants Gone Rogue, And Quotes From Magnolia June

I went through a phase of buying souvenir costumed dolls that represented all the countries of the world. At thrift stores, of course. And then yes, I'd hang them on the wall. Mostly. Sitting them on a table or shelf or something was too boring and tacky to even contemplate but hanging them on the wall was absolutely not boring. 
Now. Is it tacky? You tell me. In my opinion, no. Something as unexpected as dolls on walls is interesting. Besides that, people have made fortunes with tackiness. Let us consider the films of John Waters. Some would call him tacky, tacky, tacky. 
Many call him a genius. AND an artist. 
Am I a genius and an artist for hanging dolls on the walls? 
Oh good Lord no. I'm just saying that "tacky"is the first cousin of "whimsy" and let's leave it there. 

Let us ponder this lovely señor y señora. They are not dolls, exactly but rather plaster, uh, things that someone hand-painted, I am sure. I don't have the slightest idea where they came from. But they have graced a wall of my kitchen forever. 
Do you notice the little white chips on both their noses? Makes them look like they've just snorted a few lines, doesn't it? 

Moving on.

This is the top of my kitchen hutch and the things on the wall above it. Liz Sparks made me the beautiful Virgin of Guadalupe and I bought the angel at an antique and vintage store in Monticello a long, long time ago. It is made of celluloid, I think, and was meant to light up as she has a hole in the back of her neck where you could put a small light bulb. I've never done that but I'm sure she would be so very radiant if I did. I think she qualifies as being rather doll-like.
The clock is a clock. I like that clock. 

Some dolls I do not put on walls. Here's a little tableau in my bathroom. 

Okay, yeah, that snake plant is probably dead but maybe not. I love those two dolls very much and I like them right there where they are with their seashell and their hopefully not dead snake plant in a pot that had been my grandmother's. I think it is rather beautiful. I especially love the little bebe head poking out from behind the mother who is carrying her in a back sling which I just looked up and see that it's real name is a "manta." Now we know. Textiles, Boud!

The baby's eyebrows remind me of something Maggie said awhile back which was that she is starting to get eyebrows like mine.
Of course, mine are gray. Mostly. But yeah- if she means eyebrows like Eugene Levy's, she ain't wrong.
And this ALL reminds me of when she was born and Lily said, "She doesn't have any eyebrows!" 
"Don't worry," said Jason. "She'll get one." His side of the family has very healthy eyebrow growth too. 

So that's a little wander around my house on this drizzly, getting colder night. Before the rain this afternoon, I did some tending and tidying in the camellia bed. This is not a one-day operation. What I mostly pulled up today were spider plants. 
Yes. Spider plants. Everyone's favorite house plants. 
This is what happens when you put a potted spider plant outside in my yard and then ignore it for awhile. 

Yes. Even spider plants are invasive in my yard. And here's something I did not realize until today- spider plants are hell to pull up when they're not in a pot. They have bunched tubers with strong, thick roots coming off of them which grow deep into the dirt. 

Well, live and learn. 

Mr. Moon is at an FSU basketball game and I just got this picture from Vergil.

I know Boppy is so proud to be at the game with his boys and their parents. A few weeks ago it was Maggie he took. I asked her which  she had enjoyed more- going to the basketball game with Boppy or going fishing. 
"The fishing," she said. 
"It was more relaxing."

That's our girl. She knows what she likes as should we all.

Love...Ms. Moon

 

Oh, You Beautiful Doll, You Great Big Beautiful Doll

Now I know I have told this story at least two or three times but I love the story so much and it is such a good illustration of me and my kids that I shall tell it again. 
A few years ago Lily found something at a thrift store most likely, and I cannot remember what the item was but it was eye-catching. That I know. She sent a picture of it to the group text and said something like, "I really love this but I don't know what to do with it." 
To which Hank replied, "Have you learned nothing from our mother? Hang it on a wall."
Oh, Hank knows me so well. He should as we sort of grew up together but that has nothing to do with those Seminole Indian dolls hanging on the wall in my room except of course it does. I decided to actually clean our room today and in that room I have a vanity I bought many years ago at an antique fair at the mall I went to with my friend Sue. I love that vanity. It was one of the few things I really spent some money on back in those days when I was a single mother in nursing school but it was just one of those things you know is meant to accompany you through life from here on out. 

It was made to be yours and has just been waiting patiently for you to come around, recognize it, and take it home. 
Which is what I did. I've now had it longer than I've had Glen or Lily or Jessie and that is a lot of years. Still, I love it and am so glad I bought it and when it gets very dusty, I am shamed and get out the furniture polish and rags. And that's what happened today. 
For a few years now, those Seminole dolls had been on the vanity, arranged carefully to all fit in but the problem was, very little else could fit and I thought about what Hank had said and in just a few minutes, Bob's your uncle, and those ladies were hanging on the wall. 
These dolls used to be found and sold all over Florida at many different venues. All of the theme parks like Jungle Gardens and Monkey Jungle and Cypress Gardens and Parrot Jungle (we were big on jungles for obvious reasons) and Weeki Wachee and Rainbow Springs and Homosassa Springs sold them in their gift shops and so did many roadside citrus shops where you could also buy marmalades, citrus candy, honey, orange blossom perfume, and ceramic alligator salt and pepper shakers. 
The souvenir business in Florida was strong before Disney came in and fucked it all up. 
You could even buy necklaces and earrings with scenes depicting mostly Florida sunsets made of butterfly wings at restaurants right by the cash register next to the York peppermint patties wrapped in silver and green foil, along with the toothpick dispenser. 

This is not the time to start a discussion on using butterfly wings to make jewelry with. It was actually pretty amazing but...yeah. 

I always loved the Seminole Indian dolls but only had one, I think, and I wish I had held on to it. Now they are "vintage" and as such, worth far more (monetarily at least) than they were when the Seminole and Miccosukee  women created them out of palmetto fiber, tiny beads, and fabric scraps. 
I began to be fascinated by and realize how much I loved them when I was probably in my fifties and began to buy them when I came across them priced so that I could rationalize the purchases. Linda Sue has also sent me some because she is not only an amazing and precious human being, she is also what I would call a "finder." 

And okay, let's just carry out this theme while we're at it. 
The vanity has a sort of shelf bottom near the floor and that is where I keep my sweet old babies whom no one would really want but me. They have a special pillow and a stuffed duck I made with cashmere from a sweater I had that basically fell apart due to age and moths. I brought them up to the bed today so I could clean their bed and the area around it. Many of you know these bebes and please, I beg of you, if you think they are creepy, just keep it to yourself. 

They are rescue dolls and I care for them very much. I may even love them. 
Whatever.

And that's a part of what I did today. Clean our bedroom, hang dolls on the wall (I did not damage them in the least) where I will look at them with more attention every day. I will also take more notice of the three dolls on the vanity below them which Linda Sue also sent me. 

I've made more soup tonight and achieved something I've never achieved before which is that I did not have to change pots in mid-soup-making because I let the soup grow to proportions inappropriate to our needs and the pot I started it in. 
I am so fucking proud. 
I am really not kidding. 

Clean sheets are on the bed and actually, they are not only washed and dried, they are new. 
Thanks, Costco, for Egyptian sateen cotton sheets that cost less than two good ribeye steaks. 

It did indeed freeze last night and was about 29° on the back porch when I got up. There was ice where we let the garden sprinklers drip.

There will be more freezes for the next few days and so nothing is getting unwrapped. 

And do not fear- martinis are DEFINITELY involved. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Oh God. She's Repeating Herself Again

Today was Operation Plant Protection Day. Most tropical plants can handle a temperature of 32° F (which would be 0° C), especially if it doesn't stay at that temperature for very long. Anything below that and there's a good chance the plant will take on severe damage or even die although a seemingly dead plant will often surprise me with new growth. It might take months but I am patient. 
We used to bring every potted plant we had into the house when the forecast was for freezing weather but we are older now and some of those plants are huge and must weigh at least a hundred pounds. Glen can and does manage to move them with his dolly and my help (which is not much) but I hate to ask him to do that. Also- finding a place in the house to fit all the plants is not easy. And then of course when the danger of frost is over, the entire operation must be done in reverse and the plants are moved back outside. 
I have begun wrapping plants in old sheets and blankets when I feel they are too big to move or I am simply not that attached to them. Sometimes this works. Sometimes it does not. And if it's done right, it's not easy. Check out Steve Reed's blog post on unwrapping his beloved avocado tree when they were about to get snow. Yes, it is the UNWRAPPING but as he goes through the steps, you can easily see what the wrapping entailed. 
Now look- I'm just not going to go to that amount of effort. But I will make an effort,  pitiful as it may be. 
I knew Glen would be home by late afternoon and help me bring in the two plants I was just not willing to risk which are my Roseland mango and my sea grape I started from a seed I picked up near the Sebastian inlet. Although I wrapped the sea grape during the last freeze, it ain't looking good folks, but I do believe that after some cutting back it will begin to show signs of growth again. The mango, which I had also wrapped, only had a few leaves that were nipped so it's good. I grew this plant from the seed of a mango which grew on a tree that when I ran with the feral group of kids who roamed the woods and dirt roads of Roseland, we could always count on to have fruit during the season. And the tree was on property where no one lived so we felt safe in picking up that fruit off the ground, perfectly ripe, to eat, the juice of which would run down our chins. On one of my first stays at the Lion Pool House I was thrilled to see that same tree and I stole one of its fruits and that's where the seed came from that my plant was born out of. The tree is no longer there and so that plant is all the more precious to me. 
So out came the dolly and first we moved in the sea grape and then the mango and I will rest easier, knowing they are safe from the cold. 
I moved a few more plants into the house before Glen got home and found places to nestle them. They may not be ideal locations, lacking in light as they are, but the plants can take a break and be rested up and ready to rumble when it's time to move them back out. The rest I wrapped using garbage bags and old bedding. I also wrapped the new limequat tree planted in the back yard as well as the little olive. 

One more thing I did was to take cuttings of some of the plants I love which are not being brought in. 

"Good luck, little ones!" Glen said as we left the porch where he'd helped me tuck in the plants. 
I offer the same words, along with the old southern expression, root hog, or die, which basically means you're on your own, Baby. 

I am feeling rather flat lately and this morning was no exception. I laid in bed for quite awhile, Maurice holding down the covers over me. I pondered the strange dreams I'd had, what the day ahead possibly had for me, the meaning of life and the question of why am I still here? 
Don't worry. I ask myself that question almost every morning of my life and as I did today, I always get up, I get dressed, I drink coffee, I work through the morning angst. Some days I think about Mr. Natural

And these days, R. Crumb's portrayal of the words of a hippie guru philosopher ring more true than ever. 

I've posted these exact same images and ruminations many, many times. Just as I've posted the story of my Roseland mango. And the story of the annual plant protection day. 

Just for fun I did a blog search for "Mr. Natural" and I'm even more depressed than I was. There are so many Mr. Natural posts and in reading some of them, I feel like I was a thousand times better writer than I am now. 

Speak the truth and shame the devil. I do not have the same brain I had ten or more years ago. 

Here's what we're having for supper. 

Sweet potato and black bean chili. 
I've also made a loaf of oatmeal bread, still in the oven, which promises to be as heavy as a door stop, as dense as a MAGAt's brain. 

Oh well. We will be nourished. 
Stay warm, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon

This Is What Happened Today

Here we have Miss Sophie, Jessie's dog-daughter. When I go to Jessie's house on Wednesday mornings to pick her up for pottery, Sophie always comes to meet me with a wiggling body, a wagging tail, and some sort of stuffed animal in her mouth. Today it was a small pig and as always, she was so proud of it. Sophie is just the sweetest dog. She loves Jessie beyond measure and on the days when Jessie has worked the night before and needs to sleep during the day, Soph snuggles right in beside her. She is a good dog and she is a smart dog and she is incredibly well-behaved. At least compared to the dogs I've owned. We never picked dogs for their IQ's and it showed. 
Oh god but we've had some dumbass dogs. Please do not be offended if you love dogs and believe in your heart of hearts that all dogs not only go to heaven but also are all smart in their own way. I am sure that last part may be true but despite years of trying, I never discovered exactly where the smartness was to be located in our dogs.  
Well, except for the little Yorkie-Poo we had, named Queenie, who was the smartest, sweetest, most loving dog I've ever personally known. 

So back into the studio Jessie and I went this morning and I was sort of expecting to possibly see some changes. At least some new glazes. 
However.
No. 
I think there were a few different chairs. 
What we did see were some familiar faces and that was so nice. We only had one new person in the class and I could tell she was overwhelmed. She had never taken a pottery class in her life and boy, could I relate. But by the end of class she had, with the help of the teacher, made a very nice hand built mug and I think she probably has more confidence now or at least, a little more comfort in being there. We are a friendly group. 
One woman in our class looks like an Olympian athlete, as Jessie described her, and she sort of intimidates me although she is very nice. She is a machine in class. Today she threw seven bowls and every one of them was pretty perfect. Well, she had one blow-out bowl and by golly, she turned that into a pitcher with a pouring spout and it's beautiful. She is focused and determined and doesn't waste a minute of her studio time. 
As I said, she intimidates me but not in a threatening way. Just a I've-always-wanted-shoulders-and-arms-that-look-like-yours way. 
Also, her get to it attitude. 
Lizzie was back in class. It was SO good to see her. And Gail, our teacher, and a few other people for whom I have developed an affection for. And of course...Jessie. 
She was trying some interesting glazing things today and I can't wait to see how that turns out. Last session she bought a collection of 2 oz. bottles of a glaze called "Stroke and Coat." For some reason, Jessie and I are the only ones in the class who consider that name to be hilarious. But that's not the point. The point is that this glaze is true to the color it appears in the bottle, it comes out of the kiln very glossy, and you can actually use a brush to paint with it which I enjoy immensely. It comes in some very vibrant colors, too. That's what I used on my last flower bowl and fish. 
And it's food safe, which not all glazes are.

I'm going to order some of them too. 

And here's what I spent my two and a half hours on today. 

I am basing this project on the video I discussed yesterday and although mine will be different, I want to try and follow the potter's techniques in order to learn them. I tried very hard to take my time, to be intentional, to pay attention and not rush while still remembering that not only is perfection not possible, it's not what I'm even going for. I am looking forward to trying the technique of using small rolls of clay to delineate the leaves and petals as I talked about on yesterday's post to see how that works. 
So it was a good day at pottery and well worth getting up for before the sun had even peeped the top of its head over the horizon. Maurice was a bit perturbed that I was crawling from out of the covers so early but she just went back to sleep so it didn't worry her too much. 

After pottery Lily met Jessie and me at the restaurant/sports bar where I really love to eat although I always bitch about all the goddamn TV screens with, you know, sports on them. 
But... 

...here's a clue as to why I love it. The salad greens are fresh, the tuna is amazing, and the dressing is light and lovely. Also, the avocado is always at its peak serveability and the mandarin oranges and cabbage palm hearts send the whole thing up to a different stratosphere. 
Jessie and Lily always get Brussels Sprouts which I think is so funny. Who goes to a sports bar to eat Brussels Sprouts? Even more curious is the question of how many sports bars serve Brussels Sprouts? 
For all I know, Brussels Sprouts are standard fare at all sports bars along with hamburgers, fries, and chicken wings. 

And why is it Brussels Sprouts and not Brussel Sprouts? I mean, if they are sprouts from Brussels, wouldn't they be Brussels' Sprouts? 

Oh, who cares and who knows? 
Not me. 

Cold here and getting colder. Mr. Moon better get his butt home tomorrow in time to get my mango and sea grape safely in the house. The rest of the plants I will wrap and hope for the best but I will NOT be losing my Roseland plants. 
So sayeth the Lord. Or, to be more accurate, so sayeth me.

Love...Ms. Moon