Pottery Bum

It's like a ski bum only dirtier.
We went to a potluck last weekend and I met many of The Sweetie's school mates there. I experimented answering the question "What do you do." It's not supposed to be a hard question,
and many people only have one answer to this question, I know. My answer changes as often as the colour on my mood ring. But the fun thing about party chit chat is you can just make stuff up and most people never question it.
First, I tried out "Housewife."
Not a lie, and weird as I have never used it before. Ever. I got a very favourable reaction from the woman studying the WI for her Master's thesis. If you don't know what the WI is, you don't qualify to be a housewife, but I do, so we had a chat about that - which led to an earnest conversation about crafts.
I tried out "retired" with one woman, who didn't even bat an eye. This leads me to believe that I need to revamp my wardrobe and hair.
Next I said I was a bum. Also not a lie. The first reaction was a bemused laugh, but no questions for clarification. Obviously they couldn't see anything interesting about being a bum. So I tried it again with the next person. This time it did get a reaction, "What kind of bum, like a ski bum?" Obviously she was taking a Methods in Research course, and I was impressed she had enough imagination to want to qualify my bumminess.
For a half second I pictured myself careening down a slope and knew I wouldn't be able to pull it off (I don't know graupel from piste) so I clarified with Pottery Bum. Also not a lie. I started at the craft council pottery studio last week. This also led to an earnest conversation about crafts. It is the year of the craft in Newfoundland. I don't think they mean dories.
On second thought I should have qualified myself as a Curling Bum, because curling would have been a nicer contrast to skiing. One is what the rich, fashionable elite do in Europe and the other if you haven't figured it out, is curling. I didn't think of it at the time because curling hadn't started yet.
Pottery, as it turns out, sounds too interesting to be funny. Particularly in a room full of sociologists. Someone labelled me as an Artiste, but I don't think it was meant maliciously. After all, I stopped wearing mismatched earrings in 1988.
For as long as I can remember I have had a secret desire to be a potter. Maybe it was all the playdoh I ate as a kid. I seem to remember watching a TV segment, (probably from Sesame Street or the NFB) of someone demonstrating throwing pots on a wheel. It was mesmerizing to watch a lump of clay being pulled up into a tall pot and then widened into a fat bowl, like it was something alive. I have always been very good at getting dirty and this was obviously something very dirty and gooey and so it was hugely attractive to me.
Saturday at the studio, a group of Brownies came through on an impromptu tour. They arrived at the Craft Council and wanted to see some potters at work. Unfortunately they got me instead. I hated to tell them it was only my second day back after an absence of 8 years. Longer than most of them had been alive. I was making pinch pot mugs and the other woman was making pinch pot wine goblets so there was no impressive display of wheel work. Consequently, they didn't look all that impressed. I did let them handle some clay though, and told the group leaders (are they Owls?) about other modelling projects they could do without a kiln.
Next week I start a class, and then the clay will really hit the wheel.