New Boots

I just bought some new boots......

Not these. I found these while looking for mine.

Then I heard this dialog in my head:

How 'ja like me new boots, Mate?

Those are oxymoronic boots.

Are you callin' me a Moron?

You bought the boots, didn't you?

Multi-Tasking

Wow, Am I busy!  Will have to take a short break for now.

A Two Dimensional Interlude

Found while sorting visual reference files......

Drawn for the amusement of my children when they were in grade school.....
            Quote by V. Lindsay

Funny, the things you keep.



By the way,

    In real life,
         
          I hate grasshoppers.

Renovation Revolution

Coffee and Dog Food are now available in the guest bathroom,

dinner will be served in the Living Room,

and the laundry room is the new multi-purpose room.

The kitchen renovation has begun!

P.S. Wonder if you can make a ceramic gong? I've made a bell before; it could work.

Joke

So our friends have invited us to a party and asked that everyone bring a joke gift.

Since in the desert, we live with marauding javelins*, I decided to make a Javelina Repellant Jar.

(Small jar with a rock inside)

Disclaimer: I never throw rocks at Javelinas. I just watch them while my Schnauzer becomes hysterical.

*Small, pig-like wild peccaries, native to the desert.

They aren't really bad, just busy running in herds and foraging for food. If stressed or excited, they exude a skunk-like odor.

They are protected in Arizona and can become a hazard to humans if cornered or feel threatened. They are very protective of their young.

Males are equipped with sharp tusks.

I respect Javelinas.

Travel, Customer Relations and Breakage: A Story

When my husband was stationed in London with the Navy, the wives' club would charter a bus to go to the sales at the Royal Worcester/Spode factory. They had a large showroom with seconds, discontinued pieces and experimental samples at very good prices. We would descend on the place like locusts. It was great fun. The ride from London, though long, was enjoyable. We had lots of time to shop, loaded the bus baggage area with well-packed boxes, stopped someplace interesting to have a meal on the way back.

I liked visiting the museum as much as I liked shopping at the outlet. Most of the modern pieces were not to my taste. I did buy a very plain set of china--pure white with a wide and narrow gold band decoration-- and could pick up interesting serving pieces that coordinated with it.

On one trip, I found two experimental casseroles completely covered with gold glaze. They were never put into production. They are quite stunning.

Anyway, to the story:

A rather operatic lady arrived at the store while we were there and as she shopped, we had no trouble knowing where she was in the building because she was quite vocal. A "Hyacinth Bucket"** in the flesh! Her taste ran to ornate and expensive and she had sales ladies running to the back room to find pieces or sorting through the stock for matches.

She finally settled on a set of chargers (very like the example below or maybe these are the ones) with various paintings of fish. She kept up a loud dialog/monologue while she directed the packing and paid for her set.

When she left the building, the sound level dropped noticeably. Peaceful shopping resumed.

But not for long.

In a few minutes, she was back - a couple of octaves higher, a lot more volume and drama added.

It seems she had tripped on the steps Going Out To The Parking Lot, dropped her packages and broke some of the plates.

The sales ladies were sympathetic. But their concern changed to wide-eyed amazement when the lady demanded the company REPLACE THE BROKEN CHARGERS.

Everyone was aghast.

You could see the whites of the sales ladies' eyes all around. No one knew what to say. Except the lady and she was saying a lot. Every time someone tried to discuss the problem, she just got more agitated. She even mentioned suing them for an "unsafe step".

Well, you can hear it now, can't you?

Finally, one of the sales staff suggested the customer step to the back offices and talk with a supervisor. So, she an a couple of the sales people swirled through the back doors of the sales floor, through an echo-y hall and finally, somewhat muted, the saga of the accident and the demands were repeated.

Some time passed. We resumed our business.

Then the reverse whirlwind began to happen, She was coming back. This time, sounding less staccato, softer, less Wagnerian. She was nearly cooing.

They had agreed to replace the broken chargers! Sales ladies scurried. Plates were packed. A porter was summoned to help her with her packages to her car. She was cajoled out of the building. A huge sigh arose from the sales staff.

Royal Worcester/Spode had class.

**Keeping Up Appearances comedy series, BBC America

Kiln opening

The kiln opening went fine with the exception of one teapot. I was attempting a bas-relief of figures on the sides and one side popped off onto the shelf. Hammer Time. Next time, I will sculpt the sides and join them when they're leather hard. Trying to form the figures on the side of the pot after it's put together causes too much difference in the dampness of the two operations. I suspect that's my problem, anyway.

Live and learn................................Live, mostly.

My other pieces came out really well.

While I was unloading the kiln, I kept hearing scratching sounds. The studio is in one finished double garage; the kiln room is another attached unfinished garage. There's a door between. I had left the door open since my storage shelves for bisque are in the studio. My dog was snorting his brains out and when the noise finally penetrated my brain, I began to wonder what was going on.

I walked into the studio and was almost eye-to-eye with a red squirrel running around the ceiling on the garage door rails. I don't know how he got in. Maybe he snuck in the door when my back was turned. He can get into the attic--much to my irritation. I keep thinking we'll finish the spaces out and I'll eliminate that problem, but seems like everything else comes before that.

Anyway, I panic because I have a lot of work standing on shelves all over the place, the dog panics because his heart's desire is within reach, the squirrel panics because he's a squirrel.

He jumps from the door rails to a shelf, runs along it behind the bisque, across to the corner where my glaze materials are stored, back behind two shelves loaded with some of my prize pieces. He's just dancing on the open support strips, runs across two window sills. All the while the dog is barking and jumping. Yee gods! I grab the broom, open the garage doors, shut the adjoining door and try to chase him toward the big opening so he can get out of there. In the process, I run into a major spider web (they're moving inside because cold weather is coming) get web all in my hair and have a spider running around on my shoulder and arm.

Meanwhile, the squirrel runs back across a window, the back behind the shelves of prized pieces, across another window, back to the glaze stuff; the dog jumping like he's on a pogo stick. Every time he barks, the squirrel gets a little crazier.

I wave the broom, block him from the adjoining door and try to chase him toward the open garage door. He finally gets it, makes a mad dash down the wall. (How'd he do that!) and out onto the driveway, the dog in hot pursuit.

That little devil. I've tried to catch him with a Hav-A-Hart baited with everything I can think of. He has an abundance of pine cones, so he's not interested in sunflower seeds or peanut butter. I'd love to take him for a ride.

Breaking News--This just in--

The Bulwar-Lytton Contest results are in --

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/

The best contest of good, Really bad writing.

More About Work and ADD

I'm still a bit ADD even as an adult. I manage the problem better now than when I was younger.

Understanding ADD and the long-range view of maturity helps.

Although I can be distracted easily and have many things going on at one time, the other side of ADD is the ability to focus intently when interested in something.

Take this plus a creative "mandate" and you've got someone who goes into a bubble where time, hunger, sleep become irrelevant until it burns itself out. I still do go off on tangents.

I can also multi-task like crazy.

But this can have a bad side too. I can accumulate so many things on my plate, things can become muddled or overpowering. The Coulda', Shoulda', Woulda' rolls up behind me and sticks like Velcro until I become paralyzed. That's when I just have to take a deep breath and either sort it out or go do something else for a while.

One strategy is making long lists, writing things down before they evaporate. That and a good calendar with lots of space for notes is a good way to get a handle on things.

My notebooks, of which there are legion, are just a jumble of everything from measurements of rooms, sizes of frames for images to matt, ideas, sketches, projects, floor plans, grocery lists, interesting recipes, passing thoughts and observations, books to buy, remembrances, to-do lists: A regular brain-trust I can't do without. I finally transferred and alphabetized my books-to-look-for list onto my iPhone so that when I happen to be near a used book store (one of my fav haunts) or the library (another) I'll at least make a better stab at what to look for.

For me, it still has to be on paper. I don't trust electronic storage because too many things can hamper getting to it. Paper. Pencil/Pen. Handy. Simple.

The Olympics

Question:

If you 'metal' in a competition,

do you 'podium' to receive it?

Clay "Riffs"

A "Riff" is a musician's variation or interpretation of a phrase or composition of music. Exploring. Expanding. Making musical expansions or comments.

A "Riff" to a comedian is taking an idea and pushing it until it spins off into something hilarious.

Steven Wright: "The other day I got my house key and car key confused; put the car key in the house lock. It started right up.

So I jumped in and drove it around the block. A cop tried to get me to pull over.

I put my head out the window and yelled: "Get outta my yard!"

That's really riffing.

"Riffing Clay" is doing the very same thing.

Well, it may not be Exactly hilarious, but you know what I mean.

I like to take a basic form and push it. Not only does it bring a new form idea into being, it gives new life to it.

Here's a basic rectangular slab-rolled baking dish that was oooched into a flowing form. (I'm sure oooched is a verb.)

Granted, I did not start with a square base--more of an old TV screen shape; oblong with rounded corners. I measured the circumference of the base with a piece of string, then cut out the side from one very long piece of slabbed clay. (only one join) I attach walls with vinegar water, slathered on with a brush, and compressed the wall base into the floor. This must be done with a very light, form-encouraging touch. Otherwise, the wall will be weakened and not stand up well.

I secure the inside wall at the base by using a clay worm, compress and round and smooth the inside join. Then I manipulate the walls. I might form a slight outward bulge at the bottom; a slight outward flare at the upper rim.

A turntable is a good thing to have here. You can work on the walls and easily check how the whole form looks as you manipulate it. I sometimes add clay to create an interest area. Whatever 'feels' like it's working. Depending on how the clay is acting, I either work while it is soft, or wait until it firms up before 'riffing' it. Every piece is different. It is very important for a potter to cultivate a light, clay-sympathetic touch that builds strength into the clay, and not weaken or overwork it.

*Note: Riffed pieces are sometimes really difficult to photograph.

Watch and feel the piece until it has begun to dance to your eye. Knowing when to stop is also very important.

Silver Coffee Service, A Story

When my husband was a young junior Naval officer and we were stationed in Norfolk VA, I was asked to help at a big reception in the Officer's Club on base. The club was a neo-classical, columned building which had been a part of the 1907 Jamestown Exhibition, built on what was then Sewell's Point. Many beautiful and some extravagant buildings were built at the time prior to making it into a Naval base. The O'Club and some buildings from the Exhibition survive to this day.

The main room of the club was appropriately impressive and was set up with a large table at one end. Placed at each end of the table was a massive silver service, much like the one pictured. One end was for coffee, the other for tea. In between was a sea of white and gold-banded teacups and plates of hors d'oeuvres.

I had arrived in my Sunday-best clothes and was asked to sit at one end of the big table and man the coffee pot. And MAN is the operative word here! That puppy was heavy. I began serving coffee sitting, but being 5'2" tall meant that I had to lift that pot high enough to aim the spigot at a cup and not spill a drop. It became immediately apparent this wasn't going to work, so I stood to serve. I was very amused when the lady 'way at the other end of the table stood up also.

New pots of hot coffee were brought out from the kitchen to recharge the pot. By the time my 2 or 3 hours were up, I really felt like I had had a workout!

So let me explain about these silver services. It had been the tradition that early in the Navy's history, large, heavy tea services were part of every major ship and base's equipment for entertaining visiting dignitaries and for important social events. (The service pictured here is one from a battleship*.) They were often made special order from major silver manufacturers and double or triple plated to protect from them the corrosive sea air. While ships were deployed, many times replacement pieces or special pieces were contracted for in the place the ship was moored. For instance, several years ago I found a set of silver finger bowls with the Naval insignia impressed on the sides.

Admiral's messes also had special-order china with the Navy crest and gold banding; heavy silverware was used in the officer's mess. My children thought it was a real treat to have dinner with the officers in the mess when my husband was also standing watch for a night. They learned early how to handle so many spoons and forks. They remember it now as very special and it was.

Today's military does not separate officers from enlisted personnel for food service and the clubs serve combined ranks these days, so many of these heavy silver tea and coffee services are now either in museums, or, in the case of battleships, they have gone back to the state for which the ship was named.

*This set is from the battleship North Carolina.

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest 2009 Results

"Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin' off Nantucket Sound from the nor'east and the dogs are howlin' for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the "Ellie May", a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish' for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin' and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests."

The winner of 2009 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is David McKenzie, a 55-year- old Quality Systems consultant and writer from Federal Way, Washington. ...


For more hilarity, go to http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2009.htm

Stephen King on Working

King writes that when he is working, he visualizes himself in a special setting:

"I'm in another place, a basement place where there are lots of bright lights and clear images. This is a place I've built for myself over the years. It's a far-seeing place. I know it's a little strange, a little bit of a contradiction, that a far-seeing place should be in a basement place, but that's how it is with me. If you construct you own far-seeing place, you might put it in a treetop or on the roof of the Empire State Building, or on the edge of the Grand Canyon. It's your little red wagon, as Robert McCammon says in one of his novels."

Now, there's a thought.

I'd never approached creative thinking that way. Oh, yes, I'm a master of the Slide-out-of-my-body, Appear-to-be-conscious-except-for-a-slight-glaze-of-the-eyes.

The Old Exit Trick.

Been doing that since the second grade when things got boring and I had to behave.

And when I take a workshop, walk into a museum, put myself into a place where there's a lot of mental buzz going on, it turns my mind into a turbine and all sorts of ideas fly. I used to fill my college notebooks with lecture notes and margin drawings. At work, I might be answering the phone and dealing with whatever was on the other end, but I was also exiting through my right hand via a pencil and a doodle pad. Serving two masters, so to speak.

Now this does happen: The minute I step over the threshold of my studio it is like going through one of the science fiction space portals where, on entering, your molecules get disintegrated and then re-assembled on the other side. Once through the door, I remember exactly where I was in the work, as if a mental bookmark had been left. I tune into the thoughts left floating in the air like an enticing aroma.

That's reacting to the surroundings; a response to creative stimulus.

But to actually invent a place to go to in your mind--a Receiving Station--that you conjure up and then go through the door and close it? Wow.

King's thinking plan is almost a sort of self-hypnosis. His physical surroundings may be an isolated desk somewhere in his home where he can go and shut the door, but his mental location is a special place where he puts on different clothes, gets out his spyglass, tunes his ears for dialog and feels the wind in his face.

Wow, again.

I'm finding this book really interesting.........

Bulwer-Lytton Entry Addendum

You know the entry below about the elaborately-carved 16th century yadda yadda yadda chair? Well, this is a true story. However some of the facts have been tweeked to suit the contest style.

When we were in the antique business, we were acquainted with a very fine southern gentleman from Georgia who sold exquisitely beautiful and rare French antiques. He would bring these treasurers to a very tony antique show in Portland, Oregon, that we also drug our choicest bits to a bi-annually.

And this story really happened to him. Only it wasn't a domed porter's chair.

As a matter of fact, I don't remember what (as I do remember, it was something rather bulky and difficult to haul) a rarity he had cherished, yet grown to hate because it hadn't been immediately snapped up by an enthralled buyer. He had had the privilege of presenting this jewel of an item and schlepping it around to his show booths and back to the shop for years.


Finally, a lady became interested in this piece and was seriously thinking of buying it, but announced that she would like her friend to see it first. His shoulders slumped and he quietly groaned and as she left, came over to our booth and said, "Believe me, if someone says, 'Let me go get my husband/boyfriend/sister/girlfriend/etc. to see this,' It is the kiss of DEATH."

Sure enough, on their return, her friend came up with the garage sale comment...........

It's Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest time again!

The Bulwar-Lytton Contest deadline is April 15th. To quote the famous writer:

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

--Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford (1830)

And in honor of this wordy author, an annual contest is held to see who can write the most lengthy and elaborate bunch of silly foo-fah their minds can string together in one sentence. Each year the website publishes the winning entries. You can find the main page at http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/.

The 2009 results will be published there sometime in mid-June 2009.

Hoping to be ranked as the worst of the worst of purple prose, I sent off this year's verbal herniations for consideration. Two examples of which are included below:

Even though she was being tied to the ornately-carved sacrificial post and watching the witch doctor shake fetishes in her face, Valentina couldn't help being impressed by his lavish, yet charmingly primitive jewelry and flamboyantly colorful make-up, all the while thinking he really should do something about his pores and bad breath, but not in that order.

and

"Don't worry Lucille," shrugged her friend Gladys after she had been retrieved from the crowd at the antiques show to view the beautiful domed-top chair, "because if you are meant to have an authentic early example of an astronomically priced 16th century hand-carved rosewood French hooded porter's chair with the original horsehair padding and tooled Moroccan-Spanish leather upholstery and hand-forged brass studs and casters, you'll find one at a garage sale."

Segway

One of my favorite things to do is find pictures of people who look like "twins separated by birth".

Yesterday, I listened to an interview with Mark Wahlburg on NPR and later watched the disastrous Seahawks game with Jim Mora Jr.. defensive coach, sweating it out on the sidelines.

It occurred to me that those two look a lot alike.

Who Ate my Sandwich?

This is funny.

Anyone who has ever worked somewhere that had a community refrigerator can appreciate this, the "Prevent Sandwich Theft Plan".

Some of my Favorite Signitures

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.
---Anais Nin

Never slap a man who's chewing tobacco.

Worrying about "Commercial vs. Artistic" is a complete waste of time.
---Hugh McLeod

Famous Last Words: "Hey, Watch THIS."
---the car guys

If you want it bad, you'll get it bad.
---Heard in an office I once toiled within.

All that glitters, glitters.

Good judgment comes from experience and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.

Never wear anything that panics the cat.
--P.J. O'Rourke

Facts are meaningless. You could use facts to prove anything that's even remotely true.
--Homer Simpson




And a few of my own: (Add your own rim-shots.)

INTPs - Remember, over-analysis IS our Job.

Forget a facelift. I want a TRANSPLANT.

On This Day In History:
The Beetles stole Little Richard's "WOOOOO!"

Help! I'm drowning in a stream of consciousness.

The older I get, the more I think 'Happiness' is a decision.

Id ergo ego
and
Why be vain when you can just be conceited-----it's a lot less work.

Life isn't worth living unless you scare yourself once in a while.

It's my life, so it had better be good.

Just a thought.