Oh Yeah

I had a "Oh Yeah" moment this week. An "Oh Yeah" moment is when you used to know something really well, and then forgot about it completely until something triggers the memory and you slap your forehead with your hand and loudly say "Oh Yeah!" to no one in particular.
My moment happened Wednesday afternoon. I spent the morning in the clay studio because I am the Wednesday morning open studio volunteer. If someone needs to buy clay or have questions answered I do that, and if not, it's free play time for me. I arrived there Wednesday morning to find that a glaze firing had been done and finally I had some pieces completed. After open studio I dutifully wrapped them carefully in newspaper and came home. I lovingly unwrapped them and set them proudly on the kitchen table where Studyboy could admire them when he got home.
That's when it happened. The "Oh Yeah" moment. What I used to know but forgot about doing pottery is that eventually your house becomes the repository for every gawdawfuluglyasspieceofcripcrap you make. Then, not only must you constantly be reminded of your inadequate skills, but you also have to dust them!
Here's the thing. Each piece takes so long and has so much effort put into it that you are loathe to toss it out. Each piece may have one small element about it that you like, say for example the colour or the shape. Each piece may almost approximate a useful article like a mug or a plate but there is something wrong so that it doesn't work that well. It's too heavy, too small, doesn't pour well, whatever. So what you get in the end are a lot of dust magnets, paperweights and door stops. You can't give them away because it would be cruel to do that to the people you like, and it is too much bother to do that to the people you dislike.
Anybody need a mug shaped paperweight?
These could double as anchors for an oil tanker.











These are too small for anything except maybe sake.

Perverting Democracy for a Good Cause

Nothing better to do than read this blog?

Here's a project:
My friend Sharon has entered a story contest with Airmiles in which she can win lots of Airmiles if her story gets the most votes. Currently (Tuesday morning) she is sitting in second place in a race of 10. The first place contestant is a woman who wrote her story from a baby's point of view. (That is just wrong in so many ways.) Also, she probably has more people in her email contacts than Sharon.
Go to www.airmilesforeveryone.ca and click on the picture labelled Sharon from N.S. to vote for her story. You don't have to read the story, just click on 'vote now' once you have reached Sharon's page. Warning! If you do want to read it, and (like me) you are the sort to weep at long distance commercials then make sure you have a hanky close by before you start.
Don't get sucked into actually reading all the other stories because I can tell you now that most are pretty lame, including the pseudo baby leader.
Like the man said, "Vote early, Vote often."

Vehicle Ballet

Although it is still hovering around 12 degrees here most days, last week's little snow dump in Labrador did motivate me to change over the tires on Erica and Casper. We have snow tires for Erica and getting them on was as easy as walking past the local neighbourhood garage and asking what day to bring her in. On Tuesday they were booking for Friday. Everyone is getting their snow tires on this week it seems. So Friday morning I was up at the crack of 8:30 to do this errand. And as I try to be as efficient as possible about these things, my cunning plan was to drop off the car and continue on with the dog for morning walkies as the local garage is close to an entry point for our favourite Grand Concourse trail.
I was so intent on this plan I nearly forgot to load the snow tires into the trunk. We were all ready to go when I realised that the tires were still on the back deck. My defence is that the usual division of labour has Studyboy dealing with snow tires and I have never actually done the loading before. So the dog then had to wait impatiently while I humped them out the door and attempted for several minutes to fit 3 large tires into 1 small trunk, (the 4th rides on the back seat) but damn if I couldn't even fit three into the trunk. After 4 separate attempts I managed to wedge them in after removing absolutely everything else in there. Unlike me, Erica does not lave a large back end.
Casper's change over yesterday was a little trickier still. He needed new snow tires this year and an annual MVI. Off I went to Cambodian Tire, which is located out beyond the overpass in a business park. It turns out that NL doesn't do annual MVIs, and after a confusing conversation about needing one and how to get one with the nice man at the automotive counter we concluded that this wasn't something I needed at all. Apparently you can happily drive any old death trap forever in this province, which may be one reason auto insurance is so high.
I also learned something else on this adventure. Snow tires come in various sizes to fit different vehicles. I mean it makes sense when you think about, I've just never had to think about it because, again, this is Studyboy territory. Just like jeans have a waist number and a inseam length number, tires have numbers related to something that I wasn't really listening to because the man at the automotive counter wasn't that cute. He was nice though, and he walked out to inspect Casper to determine the correct size. The wait was going to be 4 hours and there is not enough to interest me for that long in the business park, so I took a bus home. It meandered around the Avalon Mall and the Janeway hospital and Memorial campus before dropping me off, and with the initial wait and the meandering I concluded that it was almost as fast to walk. It was nearly dark however by the time they called to say I could pick Casper up, and so I had Studyboy drive me back to save aggravation.
Studyboy is really quite the gentleman and he waited in the parking lot until I was ready to leave just to make sure everything was fine and I wouldn't be stranded in a desolate parking lot after dark. He pulled out first and made for the exit, I pulled out behind and had to wait for a silver Toyota to go by before following. By this time it was dark, and the parking lot, like all box store parking lots has traffic calming islands in strategic places, which make no sense when they are empty of cars. Studyboy mistook one of these islands for the exit and drove toward it until realising too late his error, had to swing round to the right to avoid a median. The silver car apparently was just following him, and had to make the same right swing correction. I was just following both cars and had to do the same manoeuvre, Casper meeting Erica on the way back in the process. It was like an impromptu vehicle pas de trois. I don't know which was funnier, the foolish look on Studyboy's face, or the confused one on the driver of the silver Toyota. At any rate I didn't stop laughing until we were home.

Birthday Greetings

Jake the Dog sends birthday greetings to his Grandma Nonie today, and his Auntie Lou tomorrow.

Guy Fawkes Day

You gotta love a province that celebrates both Halloween and Bonfire Night. That to me is just perfection.
Last Monday was Guy Fawkes Day, and a classmate of Studyboy had the makings of a fire from some renovations but needed a way to transport them to Middle Cove Beach. This was a good enough excuse for us to take the truck for its monthly spin.
We very nearly hit a herd of cows on the road to the beach. Studyboy pointed out the irony of travelling to NL and only hitting a cow instead of a moose. Figuring there would be a fair amount of traffic on that stretch of road we tried to call the Constabulary, but Middle Cove is one of those divine places without cell phone service. So all subsequent arrivals to the fire had the same story of near misses but all the cows survived the night and we were left with only marshmallows to roast.
Studyboy and I, with 25 years of theatre between us didn't think to bring a flashlight for this adventure, so the process of unloading the truck and carrying armloads of nail riddled lumber down to the beach was a little treacherous. Finally though, the pile was built and as no one brought a Guy to our fire, we topped it with a box and used some charcoal to make a face.
He looks a little too happy for someone about to be torched but it was so dark, you couldn't actually see that until I used the camera flash to take a picture.
With the pile in place we had only to wait until the others showed up for the 7pm torch up time. This meant standing around for 30 minutes on a beach in November as a thick fog rolled in, wondering why we hadn't though to bring a hat and mittens.
At 7pm, with only two new arrivals to the party, and out feet going numb, we lit 'er up.
It was the biggest fire on the beach, and also the shortest. The whole pile went up quickly fueled by century old wood and a stiff wind from the ocean. Those who arrived at 7:30 missed it completely. Not ready to give a up yet, some made forays into the dark for more wood, but the beach had been cleared by all the other bonfirers, and all they could find was the waterlogged carcass of a spruce tree. It eventually burned, a little more slowly that the first, and we were all glad.

50 Ways to Lose a Pottery Project

I once knew a recording engineer who stated that drummers have the hardest gig. This was significant because he was a guitar player and musicians usually only sympathize with their own kind. His drummer theory stemmed from the fact that your average drum kit consisting of: a bass drum, a snare, two or three toms, a high hat and symbols. Add to that various types of drum sticks and brushes and Drummers therefore were required to play several instruments all at the same time.
I have extended this theory to pottery. Pottery is not just one hobby, it is several sequential ones all rolled into one, and so the number of ways you can screw up a piece is astounding. I've been at it for a month now, and I brought my first completed piece home only today. The problem is the sequence I think. You can do the first 3 or 4 steps OK and then bodge it up at the end.
You can't just unravel the yarn, or pick out the stitch, or wait until the paint dries and have another go. You can't cut a new angle, or erase a pencil line or add some more flour to the dough. When you screw up pottery, you get to start back at the beginning again.
Or, if you're like me you call it a "learning exercise" and keep going just to get to practise the steps that otherwise you would never get to.
Here are some of the ways to screw up a simple pot:
Don't attach it to the wheel properly - and it goes flying off across the room...
Use too much water to centre it - and it is too soft to hold its shape
Don't get it centred well - and it is wobbly or twisted (but not in a good way)
Don't put the hole in the middle - and it is lopsided
Don't open the hole enough at the bottom - and it weighs a ton
Use too much water to shape it - see problem 2
Use too little water to shape it - and it sticks to your hands
Schmuck it up when you cut it off the wheel
Schmuck it up when you wrap it up for drying - this only happens to the really really good ones...
Don't centre it well for trimming - and it goes wonky
Trim it too wet - and you can push it out of shape
Trim it too dry - it will crack
Trim it too thin - and you put a hole in the bottom or the sides

At this point, if you have an object that isn't half bad, don't even think about decorating it. Just go straight to firing. If however you are a masochist like me, now is the time to get clever with painting or carving or stamping or texturing. But obviously this is just a whole host of other ways to screw it up.
Once it is shaped and decorated (ha!) and a handle is attached if necessary, it needs to be dried to green ware stage.
This is where it might start to crack. Or maybe the handle will fall off. But whatever you do, be careful because it will definitely break if you knock it.
The first firing is the bisque firing. It will lose about 10 - 15% of its size and that's when you figure out the perfect sized mug is actually too small, and now you can't get your finger through the handle anymore.
Next comes glazing. If you have gotten to this stage, congratulations! Take a picture because you are sure to ruin this step. Glazes drool, streak, bubble, or just turn out to be a really ugly colour. Glazes also have the ability to accentuate any imperfections in the shape, so something that was quite exciting in the bisque stage is really quite embarrassing after it is glazed.
Thus far, I haven't so much made Seconds as thirds, fourths and fifths.

Vanity Sizing in a Post October World

In keeping with the spirit of All Hallows Eve, I went jean shopping this week. For those of you who don't see the connection, jean shopping is the scariest retail experience a woman can have.
It is so scary I haven't done it for over a decade, preferring instead to buy my jeans pre-loved at Frenchies. Lately my favourite pair of Frenchies jeans are starting to get a little frayed in some important areas, and in anticipation of total denim failure I thought I should find some replacements.
We seek them here,
We seek them there,
At Frenchies, we seek them everywhere...
Alas, Frenchies in St John's does not live up to its reputation, so it was with much trepidation I made the trip to Losers. News Flash! I can report that vanity sizing, until this moment only a rumour hotly denied by all the fashion houses, does indeed exist.
My proof for this is simple: The last time I went jean shopping...in the year 3 (BPC) - that's before Peter's cooking - I was a perfect 7/8. Fast forward to present day, or 13 (APC) and I am still a perfect 7/8.
It's a miracle! I gained an average of 2 pounds a year for 16 years but my jeans size didn't change. To celebrate I held communion with all the left over Hallow e'en chips!
I was so happy with my new purchase, I began to wear them immediately. I wore them at various times all week.
It is a peculiar quirk of my sweetie, (and perhaps most men) that he does not understand the wardrobe must fit the activity. He complains that I change my clothes at least 6 times a days, and to that I reply "Of course I do."
First thing you put on schlepping around the house clothes. Then you have to walk the dog, so you put on street clothes. Then perhaps it is time for yoga, so you put on yoga pants (yes, I do own a pair) Then it is off to run errands or buy groceries so back come the street clothes, and not necessarily the same ones as before. Then perhaps you go to the pottery studio, and that requires something different again...
On Friday my only necessary activity was a long dog walk and so I did actually wear the new jeans all day. Friday was a pre-post tropical storm day here. (Coincidentally, when did the 'tail end of a hurricane' become a post tropical storm? That's like calling November, Post October.) At any rate, on Friday we had interesting weather as an apparently nameless mass of precipitation was pushed ahead of the Noel leftovers. The winds were high, the temperature spiked up to 16 degrees from 3 overnight, and the air was muggy while the dog and I made a brisk 90 minutes loop around Georgetown. It poured rain in the afternoon while I went out to the bakery. Maybe it was the muggy dog walk, maybe it was the rain, maybe it was simply that I had them on for 15 hours non stop. When I finally removed my jeans at bedtime my legs were blue. A perfect tan line from the my socks up to my underwear.
The pre bed shower reminded me of those bright pink pills dental hygienists used to give out to show how to better brush your teeth. I had to really scrub to get the dye off my legs, and I can report that you all should be paying closer attention to behind your knees.