
We try to walk out at first light. The sand is washed smooth, gulls rest onshore, and no one else is out—most people are still sleeping.
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We try to walk out at first light. The sand is washed smooth, gulls rest onshore, and no one else is out—most people are still sleeping.
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It was about 2:45pm, and we were taking a nap when a huge crash blew us out of bed. We knew immediately what it was.
Yeah, it happened again. Another board through our roof. [see “Shaken Not Stirred”]
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Continue reading“I think deep down inside children are all the same,” she said. “They want two loving parents and they would prefer a house with a neighborhood they can play in. They want teachers that they can like. I don’t think children have changed that much. It’s the world that has changed.”
—Beverly Cleary
Hello world. I’m writing about covid and my BMI and tidying up. You might want to stop right here and not read any more. The pizza was wonderful, btw.


I promise to post a photo of the blanket when the three lengths are finished and seamed.
My studio degrees are in ceramics and metal. I exhibited while still an undergrad and completed commissions. But after I graduated I never really went back to clay or gold. Instead, I went for fabric.
Important influences include Kaffe Fassett’s Glorious Color, Randall Darwall’s breathtaking silk weaving, and my grandfather’s wife Genevieve and my friend Toni who gave me looms.
Continue readingTomorrow is officially spring, but it’s still winter here. Coastal weather is not like inland. When Portland is fretting about 45mph gusts, we’re out walking in it. Sixty-five miles per hour, seventy. That’s typical in winter.
I woke in the night to a bang, but it’s happened so often in the past three months that I didn’t think too much of it. The house to the south is being “remodeled” and the contractor has repeatedly failed to adequately secure the site.
The firm hired to do the work seems not to understand about wind. They stripped off the roofing the beginning of January and since then the felt has torn off three times and plastic tarp has torn off twice as well. Three months without a roof.
And now this damage to our atrium roof. (Not to mention our Miele vacuum cleaner happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gary is uncharacteristically optimistic that it will survive.)

Things I have not accomplished in the last 24 hours:
Things I (or we) accomplished in the past week:
Continue readingGary was after me to post today. It’s π day, we missed our walk, but entertained ourselves watching the tarp peel off the remodel next door.


A friend asked me the other day about our beach walks. How far, how long, how fast? We basically walk north on the shore and then home, sometimes south too. If we can get over or around enough creeks and headlands, we might manage to get two miles north, four miles round trip. But it’s not that simple; we also walk into the rocky edges of the shoreline, east-west, up and down, over and over. I told her that when tides force us to walk on the highway we manage better than 20-minute miles. That’s not fast, but good enough. When I log distance, I mostly count North-South distance because it’s impossible for me to accurately record what our zigzag path covers.
Life is like that, isn’t it?

Vicious, viscous, victorious, vitreous. That last word has been humming around in my head for a week. Vitreous describes a material such as ceramic which has melted into itself, creating a glass-like and waterproof material. Clay molecules “stick” to one another as they are heated to liquid and taken to a high enough temperature the molecules melt into a solid mass. Vitreous porcelain, as one example, has been fired so hot that the clay molecules melt into one another to make an impervious whole. Thin enough, you can see through some china.
In about 1973, Bob Sperry gave all the Ceramic Art majors an assignment to collaborate—the throwers he worked with would pair with the hand-builders who worked with Howard Kottler and Patti Warashina. Together they would create something. As a hand-builder, I paired with a thrower, Sam Scott, whom I had known since we both hung out most of the day in the ceramics room during high school. I gave him my low-fire white clay body to substitute for his usual stoneware on the wheel, and a design profile for a covered casserole dish.
The result of the experience changed Sam’s work. Turned out he loved white clay and began throwing with a porcelain clay body as he had previously thrown stoneware—thicker than people generally throw porcelain but a perfect canvas for his iron and cobalt brushwork. (Another friend threw stoneware thin as porcelain.) My family was hard on the many pieces I bought from him, but I managed to hide a few survivors. A massive platter and some bowls. They are handsome pieces.

Vitreous.
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