विथ अ मोनुमेंतल crash

so... is there a reason that my computer is translating what i am writing to sanscrit? oooo. fascinating. especially as what i am writing to announce is that i have just replaced my hard drive and am back in action! winter is a surreally busy time for a potter here in asheville. i am working on a (wonderful and much needed) mountain of commissions and trying to get christmas presents ready for everyone. o... you didn't know it would be ceramic? well........... okay....... we can discuss it. i promise not to try to make a bike out of the stuff.
but jackson is whining, and i must take him to the woods. and then off to put the handles on 24 more mugs. i can do this. breathe deep! more soon!

lovepeace
heather

better than reportingly

apparently, the bottles are coming around. after writing a highly technical and detailed explanation of why, i decided to spare you the agony of boredom and just say that i changed clays. it is working.
and at long last, it rains. it has been raining since last night, and even the air is soggy. i am loving it. the wilted redbud tree outside my window is again stretching out and up. water is beading in bright drops on leaves that brush the screen. the air is cool and smells of wet dog. (not really) my house is warm with the smells of after school snacks of popcorn and brown rice. it looks as though we may be in for the weekend, as the car is not accelerating over 25 mph, and it is forecast to rain a good bit. this is okay. i will take the back road to greenlife and stock up on groceries, hit blockbuster and get a new movie or two, and the kids should be good until sunday afternoon. i will try to throw pots. we will see exactly how far i get. between kids and dog, it is a little like trying to read in the bathroom at mom's on a sunday.
wish me luck.
lovepeace
heather

less than stellar

hmmm. heavy. lumpy. graceless. not quite optimal. not quite the nadir of my ceramic efforts, but certainly my most recent abject failure. bottles. how i hates them. but it is a good hate, actually. i have not failed so miserably at something outside of a relationship in some time. it almost feels good to be angry at myself for not being able to figure it out. i have tried everything that i know how to do, even asking my dearest teachers for help. nada. they are more than willing to help, but i am stuck. almost literally. there is a pound of clay stuck in the bottom of my bottles, and i have to get it into the top. it doesn't want to move. i am unable to make it. and so i throw bottle after bottle and cut them in half. this is not helping me to fill the soda kiln. this is not helping to fill laura's west a-ville kiln. but when i am done, i will make a whole load of good bottles.
and to add insult to not so serious injury, i lost half a kiln load yesterday. the pyrometer quite, the interiours are lovely, ooo... i fell asleep. goig to bed.
tomorrow is another day, scarlet. go clean up and away to the ladn of morpheus.
lovepeace
heather

notes from the front line

they have acquiesced to my demands! the kitchen has been tidied. the masses have been fed. a new contract is in place. if the kitchen is, shall we say, less than optimal, they have half an hour from the time i cross the threshold to get it that way. otherwise, i go to rosetta's for a cup of soup, and they stay home with the peanut butter. i think it sounds fair.
we'll see how long it lasts.
lovepeace
heather

mom goes on strike

i know my mama wanted to do it. (she actually did it successfully several times.) my grandmother probably wanted to do it. i am joining the ranks of the disgruntled rank and file. i am on strike. there has been a pot half full of soy sauced rice in the sink for a few too many days. leftovers in rapidly expanding containers are beneath cutting boards and frying pans. and then they made cookies. how many moms have left the house as their teenagers prepared to bake, only to turn and say, "clean up after yourselves?" raise your hands! mine is up! and so is the proverbial jig. this beleaguered lady of the house has had enough. i am not cooking until my children wash the dishes. i put every last dish in the sink, replaced the minor appliances, and wiped down all the surfaces. it actually looks fairly decent. lots of workspace, not a thing out of place. but the big knife that i use to chop all of our vegetables is pinned beneath three saucepans, a cutting board, and a frying pan. those saucepans come in handy, too, when you want to cook dinner. tonight was night one. they did not go to bed without dinner, as i am certain that at least some of that overflowing pile were used in the pursuit of semi-standard nutrition. there were eight eggshells on the counter and an oily frying pan. somebody ate something! they always do. dr. welty told mom when we were children that when we were hungry, we would eat. (never a problem for me.) the little known corollary is, "when they are hungry, they will clean."
we will see how long it lasts.
lovepeace
heather

years later, mom wins...

this evening we are looking back down the road. way back. ooo, maybe 30 years or so. mom was doing that which all children fear mother doing most... READING. diet for a small planet was, i believe, the instrument of our discomfort. lentils, brown rice, unleavened bread. if you have children, were a child, or well, are a child, you know that the two colors that every child loves to hate on the dinner plate are brown and gray. especially gray. the color of lentils, liver, and zucchini cooked to death in a cast iron pan (not that mom ever did that, but it IS gray!) macrobiotics was a swear word that i swore i would never inflict on my children (the kids i wasn't going to have, at that point.) but here we are. almost my entire lifetime later, and:
LENTILS and BROWN RICE, it's what's for dinner!
granted, i am going to dress it up with raw corn, ume plum dressing, avocado, a little onion and some raw fennel. but still. as far as i can tell, it is actually macrobiotic. no, don't panic, kids. we aren't going macro. or vegan. or zoroastrian, either. (although the white robes and funny hats are appealing.) all this to say, mom... you were right. what you put in your mouth makes a tremendous difference in how you feel; about yourself, your life, the world around you. at least it does for me.
thanks mom. i sure do love you.
so, just in case you want to join us, here is what is for dinner.
-not just brown and gray hand rolls-
cooked short grain brown rice
cooked green french lentils
an avocado, skinned, diced (preferably floridian, as they remind me of nanu)
one fennel bulb, sliced thinly
two ears of corn (cut off the cob)
TBS minced sweet onion
handful of slivered raw almonds
(dressing)
juice of one lime
TBS of brown rice vinegar
TBS of olive oil
tsp of tamari
smidge of ume plum paste

sheets of nori

combine the salad elements in a large bowl and toss with the dressing. (no, it really doesn't take that long to chop the stuff. you don't have to hire a sous-chef.) wrap about a half cup in a sheet of nori, head for the back porch with your cup of tea and your plate, and chow down. o, and sprinkle with crunchy sea salt and sesame seeds at will. eat two and call me in the morning.

enjoy!
lovepeace
heather

o, so that's what stinging nettle looks like.

though i am sure that you have fathomed almost the entire anecdote from the title, i will tell you about my stupidity anyway. this morning as i took jackson for his morning constitutional, we walked down a lovely shaded, extremely weedy alley grown up on both sides of the asphalt with bamboo, jewelweed, wild mint, and lots of high ground cover. one of my many faults is curiosity, so upon seeing an herb that greatly resembles lemon verbena i reached out and plucked some, rubbed it between finger and thumb and sniffed. it smelled acrid. i dropped it and proceeded onward. by the time i had reached the end of the block, my finger and thumb stung and burned and itched, and the true identity of my mystery plant dawned on me. i have actually bought it bagged and eaten it at home before. (it tastes of okra.) by the time we got back home, it had swelled up. i washed well with soap, but the little blastocysts had done their worst. (do plants have blastocysts?) the little hairs were well imbedded in my flesh, poisoning away. my thumb has had the worst of it. there are several dark purple spots, and it still burns.it has not stopped me from throwing pots, or from typing (obviously), it is only a little embarrassing.
i guess i will learn... eventually.
lovepeace
heather

i can handle it!

all right... for those of you who read this blog and DON'T make pots, this won't mean a lot. but, after years of making pots, i have made a handle that i like. four of them actually. when the pots are done i will take a picture. they are comfortable, attractive, and sturdy. i am so excited. i want to go make a dozen mugs. (actually, i owe carson a dozen mugs. maybe i should do that. ) to put this in perspective... imagine a web designer learning html. or an accountant learning to divide. or... an international arms dealer learning to shoot a gun. its a big deal. take my word for it.
lovepeace
h.

a promise kept

a few weeks ago, i noticed that every time the hot, sultry air in the back yard stirred, a small drift of golden leaves would fall from the neighbors' black walnut tree. they flutter slowly to earth, leaving countless behind. the tree itself is green and in full leaf, but since that day every breeze is greeted with a shower of gold. it seemed a promise, a reminder that asheville would not swelter forever in daytime temperatures in excess of 90 degrees, that nights would again sink below 60. two days ago it rained... and the first breath of fall swept in behind it. even in the warm damp mist after the rain, there were cool threads of air twining through the vapor. it felt like cool water on my skin, and i could at last breathe again. since then, the light has changed. the quality of shadow is more jewel-like and clear. even in the thick fog of this morning, the world had more depth. fall is coming. the forecast for this week does not reach above 85 degrees. the cicadas' song, the falling leaves, the passing calendar... fall is almost here. and with every sighing wind, a hundred long yellow leaves proclaim its approach in their graceful saunter downwards.
lovepeace
heather

entirely too early, if you ask me

but no one did, though everyone seems to agree with me. school started for all underaged ashevillians this week, including my two. the words, "when i was a kid," and "never until after labor day" flew thick about my head and shoulders everywhere i went wednesday. i was flogged by other people's memories and offended sense of the sanctity of summer, as though it was i who had decreed a premature end to long days of slack and longer nights of perusing youtube and checking out random myspace pages. we did manage a few days at the end of forced marches up waterfalls and mandatory fun at swimming holes and long pebbly creeks. i think that next summer, there will be more marching and less youtubing.
my memories of summer always include long visits to grandma and grandpa's, the eerie light of the silent sentinel in my aunt theresa's bedroom window, and more trips to the beach than one could shake a piece of driftwood at. the beginning of school brings back the smell of textbooks, the salty grit of erasers, and the melancholy description of fall from charlotte's web, with crickets chanting, "summer is over... summer is dead."
this year was more momentous than most, as guthrie started high school at asheville high. my boy is in 9th grade. against all predictions and queries from well-meaning gadflies, i do not feel old. i am, however, astounded by the bigness of him. the word "size" simply does not do him justice. i am constantly surprised by the expansiveness of his personality and the magnitude of his very bones. his appendages look like saplings, twisting and writhing in his own personal cyclone as he hurtles from place to place. but, oddly enough, there seems to be a stillness at his center. he is capable of sitting down and having conversations, spread from one end of the porch to the other sprawled across a deck chair as he holds forth on his chosen topic. he will pause before leaving to hug me and tell me he loves me and kiss me on top of the head. he calls me mama. my own high school freshman. i am amazed.
sadie, too, grows more beautiful every day. she is lucky i am not a wicked stepmother, or that huntsman would have his work cut out for him, and she would have to get over her irrational fear of dwarves. i don't need a magic mirror to tell me that by the time sadie makes it to high school, i may not feel old, but i will probably have a full head of white hair! (s'okay. it looked grand on helen hayes.) her intensity is matched only by her determination to be completely indeterminate. decisions are anathema, but cannot be made by anyone else, especially not me! i feel like king arthur in the "holy grail" whenever i require that she decide what she will eat for dinner or wear to school. "look, she's oppressing me! o, now we see the violence inherent in the system!" and yet... she is still my little girl. for all her awkward striving toward independence, i look at her and see the pensive, unearthly child that she was, reading the newspaper in the cockpit of our sailboat home. i see the baby in the ladybug suit, planning her next breakout into the back yard. she is herself indeed, but still very much my own.
and so the year wears on. school will wash through our house like a tidal wave, rearranging schedules and social lives until next summer, when it will ebb, leaving us with another long, hot stretch of not a lot to do. until then, cool weather cometh. sweaters await. and camping season starts in the fall.
enjoy.
lovepeace
heather

welcome to future 26

i am laughing at the thought that 26 is still in my future. in fact, i left it behind slightly over a decade ago. (one decade, five and a half weeks ago, to be exact.) still... future 26 it is. i live in asheville, and through asheville runs an interstate highway alternately known as I240 or future 26. it has been marked "future" 26 for some years now, and the future has yet to be realized. somewhat like me. i have been marking myself "future" most likely since i left home at the tender age of 18. it is always next year. next month. next firing. well... the future is now. the time still to come has knocked, and i am opening all the doors and windows. this blog will (i hope) be a place for me to catalog and contemplate victories and other perhaps not so sublime experiences as the future unfolds. i assume that my readership will never expand beyond my family and friends, but if you have stumbled into my electronic easy chair in the cyber kitchen of my brain... welcome. have a seat. perhaps a biscuit. a cup of tea... coffee... ricemilk if you have time. and join me for a thought or two as we groove on down
FUTURE 26.

lovepeace
heather