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IT HAD ONLY BEEN DECEMBER for seven hours when I climbed out of bed on this cold and cloudy Saturday morning.  ("Be at my house by 8:30," Janie had said, and my bags and boxes of recycling had to get to the recycling spot prior to that.  [It was while unloading the third box of already-been-read newspapers that one lens fell out of my glasses, necessitating a hurried trip back home for an old pair before heading to Janie's house*]).

So then I rode with Janie and her husband Lavern and eight or ten boxes filled with pottery to the home of Sue, who's got herself a wood-fire kiln that she helped to build. I was eager to experience this build-a-fire-to-fire-the-pots event!

Now, Reader Dear, I already mentioned that it was cold, did I not?  However, I had dashed out the door without much thought to the degree of chill in the air.  My friend Janie had on a down jacket and warm hat and gloves.  I was not so warmly dressed.  Alas, it proved to be the overriding factor during the next four hours of my life!   Nevertheless, I was ready to get started, and Sue showed up shortly to offer instructions. 




First thing, Sue and Lavern really raised the roof!















No sooner had they opened up a space for Phil to climb in, than Phil arrived to climb into this kiln! I soon deduced that Phil was the expert here.  He gave us instructions throughout the process:

1. Unloading the boxes of pottery and grouping the pieces by height.
2. Wadding each and every piece.
 (And here, Reader Dear, I insert a few words on wads) 
a. Wadding involves rolling multiple small balls of sandy clay to attach to the bottom of each pottery creation in order that it will not end up baked tightly to the shelf upon which it rests in the kiln.

b. All pieces require a minimum of three wads.

c.  Lids require special-attention wads.

d. Wads cannot be formed or attached while wearing gloves.

e. When there are umpteen pieces of pottery to go into a   kiln, something like a gazillion wads must be formed and attached.

f.  When the weather tends toward frigid, fingers forming wads freeze fast.

g.  Any fun aspects of wadding diminish as fingers freeze.

As wadding went on, Phil spent his time inside the kiln skillfully loading the shelves.

When I finked out early and called an end to my first experience at helping to load a wood-fired kiln, Phil was loading his final shelf.  It was twelve and a half hours into December and I was really into the hot coffee that Lavern brought along when  he came to provide a ride home!

(A fire will be built, and others will stoke it throughout the night tonight-- 

[You will have to imagine it, Reader Dear (the wadding stint caused me to wimp out on this aspect of wood-firing!)])

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* I only mention this triviality because this 

variety of happenstance seems to be a peculiar 

affliction of me alone!  I beg you to tell me it's not so,

Reader Dear!

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DEAR READER, Reader Dear, I've been too busy to blog!   (It's a patent falsehood, but it sounds so much better than the truth.  And...I have been scampering around a bit, getting my pottery pieces [those that sat dejectedly in two grocery bags in a corner of my attic for a number of years] all ready to go into a wood-fired kiln!]

It's something I'll get to experience for the very first time--the loading and firing up of a wood-burning kiln.  And that, Reader Dear, gets me fired up!*
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*You're guaranteed to hear more later.**
**That's no falsehood.


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ALL THAT TALK ABOUT WINTER...here it was just a preview.  The real thing sneaked into the area last night, dropping its white evidence everywhere!

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YESTERDAY MORNING my yard man and I,  between the two of us, ate an English muffin with peanut butter, a small bowl of oatmeal concocted from a packet of the dried instant variety with hot water stirred in, two little doughnuts, one serving of creamed dried beef on a biscuit, and two tiny helpings of scrambled eggs that neither tasted nor closely resembled the eggs produced by the yard man's hens.  We then got a large goodbye from the Small Actor, consisting of many kisses all around, left our motel room and headed toward winter (all unawares that that's where we were going to end up!)

It was downright shocking, Reader Dear, not to mention tooth-chattering and wail-producing, to arrive in the cold blustery north!
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Making the seasonal segue more bearable, on this Sunday evening the yard man built a blazing fire in our open fireplace and read aloud to me for several hours, thereby producing the most delightful day of winter I've had for quite some time!

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IT'S SATURDAY, Reader Dear, but it's still Friday on this blog if I say it is, so I'll say that it is.  We are still in Richmond, Virginia, my yard man and I, and we are still mainlining gratefulness-producing realities.  We went to a park with the Small Actor and his dad (his mum had to put in time at her job).  It was warm and sunny, a marvelous day for strolling around outdoors.  I drag my feet on relaying the unpleasant blip in my otherwise delightful afternoon .   But here's the thing, Dear Reader:

This park has an area where sheep and goats, a large hog, a small ass, and peacocks and numerous  other animals live.  In order to reach this area, the four of us walked (though one of us mostly rode in a stroller) across a wide expanse of lawn, down one hill and up another, and around several bends in the paved trail. It was far from the parking lot, Reader Dear-- that's what I'm saying.  But we were strolling in a leisurely manner, enticing the Small Actor--"Animals! Artie, you wanna see the animals?!"



In time we reached the animals' living quarters, and shortly after, the Small Actor reached out to a shaggy sheep.  Now,  would-be-Viewer Dear, the view was a sight to behold!  The late afternoon sun shimmered off of that shaggy creature (the long-haired one), and lit up the blond curls on that small celebrity! The shaggy ovine nuzzled the hand of the tiny human.  And me--- I snatched up my camera!

Take a moment to calm yourself, Reader Dear, there's a big AAARRGH coming your way!  As I pressed the button that was supposedly destined to record the scene for you, the battery died in my camera.  (You see, that is just what happens to destiny sometimes--it takes a severe misstep! I'll spare you, Dear Reader, the urge to repeat my loud moan, "I've got a back-up battery, but... it's in the car!")  

Okay, I tried to be thankful for all of the photos that already filled my camera; tried to make peace with keeping the spectacular image all neatly recorded in my brain.  But, no!  I knew I could re-trace my steps if I chose; I could make that long trek to the parking lot and return with a workable camera!  I wanted that photo! After just a few moments of teetering, I figured I needed that photo!
Extracting promises that the Small Actor would be right there at the animal area when I returned, I set out for the parking lot, which suddenly looked to be about a half-continent away.

Now, Reader Dear, I'm going to leap over the part about me oh-so-briskly treading up hill and down, backtracking across vast expanses of lawn, and around multiple bends when I kept to the paved trail.  I'm also going to skip over the part about running around to numerous parking lot areas in search of the car (parked in the most far-flung section of all).  What I'm going to do is bring you with me as I arrive back at the animal area about twenty minutes later, huffing and puffing, and a with my feelings of gratefulness having taken a beating.
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 (It's intermission time, Dear Reader.  Take a deep breath, as I'm doing)
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I glanced around, looking for the Small Actor.  Then I turned my gaze to the grassy enclosure where the long-haired sheep had dwelt.  THEY WERE GONE!  Yes, Reader Dear, all of them had disappeared altogether!  I'm telling you this in a mild-mannered way because that, as they say, is how the cookie crumbles.  It's how the ball bounces.  It's also how the animal-keepers come and collect all the animals and return them to their pens at a certain time of day (just a few minutes prior to my certain return!)

So there you have it!  I had to eat that chunk of disappointment, and it tasted not at all like a crumbled cookie.  Or Thanksgiving turkey, either,  for that matter.  After I'd gulped down most of it, I set up a faux re-enactment for you, Viewer Dear.  Rather pitiful, really, but it will have to do.

And then I told myself how very lucky I was to get this great shot of the geese and the goslings and the grandson on this glorious afternoon!*


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*We passed by the lake on our return to the car.  My son knew a shorter route to the parking lot, but I'd dashed off too quickly to hear it!
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