They Went Thataway...

I am a potter.  I make useful things out of clay.  They are all made by hand.  That's unusual in this day and age.  It used to be that everything was made in Japan.  Now everything is made in China. In fact, China is where porcelain was discovered and first used.  So, to be a potter is kind of an anachronism.  Out of fashion, but quaint.  Why do I mention this?  About six months ago, my electric kiln stopped reaching temperature.  I had to fire my wares two or thee times to get them the glazes to mature.  Not a good thing.  Once, while in Seattle at Seattle Pottery Supply, the kind folks who sold me my kiln, I happened to talk to one of the employees, Kim, who said she remembered one other lady who had the very same problem.  It turned out that they were sent a "ferric bead" from the manufacturer of the digital control for the kiln to fix the problem.  Kim thought that was probably the problem with my kiln.  She told me she would contact the manufacturer, Orton, to see what could be done.

That was maybe three months ago.  I didn't hear from them so I ordered new elements for the electric kiln.  the thought was that nothing had happened with the manufacturer of the digital control and that the problem was burnt out elements.  This really pissed me off for a couple of reasons:  1.)  The elements weren't that old and should have plenty of life left in them.  2.)  I HATE HATE HATE replacing kiln elements.  I always break some of the brick and they never fit correctly.  Plus, it's a pain in the ass.

I received the new elements but didn't get around to replacing them right away.  I waited a week but decided if I was to make and fire pots, I needed to get this horrible task done.  I did get the top element in and gave up when the wiring fell apart.

Then, a couple of days later, Kim from SPS calls me and tells me that they just got the part from Orton.  Did I want it mailed or did I want to come get it?  I called the next day and asked if I could return the unused elements. Of course.  Ok, then I'll come get it and return $200 worth of electric kiln elements.  It would be worth the $$$ spent on gas.

So, I hopped in the car at about 9:30AM and set out, leaving the dog at home.  I brought my Nikon with me, just in case a fabulous photo op popped up.  You see the result on this page.

I arrived at SPS, which is in the SODO district of Seattle.  Starbucks headquarters is nearby.  I came in the door with my box of elements.  The only person I could see working there was busy so I set the box on the counter.  I wandered idly, which I am very good at. When I came back to the counter, Kim was there and knew immediately who I was and why I was there.  She handed me a piece of paper with a photo and a quarter inch long by quarter inch wide piece of iron with a hole in it.  That's it.  A tiny thing, it is.  About this time, Jim, the owner came out from the office.  "Hi, Tim," he said, "How are you?"  "I'm good," I replied trying to stifle the sarcasm I felt boiling beneath my bosom.

Jim and I go back farther than we have known each other.  He sold clay to my grandfather.  That is probably the only reason I still go to his store.  I'm probably the only potter in Wenatchee who still goes to Seattle Pottery Supply.  For some reason, most of the potters in the valley have a hair up their ass about SPS.  Something about bad service.  What I know is that the people at SPS do not suffer fools lightly.

Kim threw in a 50# box of porcelain for me at no cost.  That was a good touch.  I may not give them as much business at the University of Washington does, but I talk a lot.  I don't say bad things about SPS.

I grabbed my box of clay and my "ferric bead" and headed up 1st Avenue.  That's the vantage from which these photos were taken.  I never made it to downtown.  I was tired.  I've been tired.  I took off driving straight onto I-90.  Going through the tunnels before the floating bridge is such a trip.  Engulfed in darkness except for the lights hanging from the top of the tunnel, the sound of traffic wraps around my ears as I try to stay in my skinny lane.  I see the light in the distance and know what I will see when I emerge.  I will see lots of light.  I will also see Lake Washington and the floating bridge.  Then I'm on the bridge crossing Lake Washington.  Lake Washington is where I first water skied.  We were out in the guitar player's boat drinking Olympia beer.  I was sort of inebriated.  The guitar player picked me up, threw me in the water, then drove the boat a bit away from me.  He threw the water skis at me and then threw the tow rope.  It was hard enough getting the skis on but getting up on the water took almost all afternoon.  I did it.  So I have history with Lake Washington.

When you emerge from the tunnel that goes under the Rainier district of Seattle, it is a different world complete with houses, boats, yachts, and sailboats.  I've never seen a jet ski on that part of the lake.  The bridge rolls out in front of you and even in the midst of rush hour traffic, you feel as if you are the only one allowed to travel on that part of the highway.  It's always a rush for me, no matter how many times I've done it.  There is also some melancholy involved as I'm leaving the city.

I love Seattle.  I think I would rather retire to a city.  Seems like there is more to do.  More to do, live longer, right?

I stopped in North Bend on the way back for some bbq.  Damn good.  I got home and hit the computer to see if I had any fan mail.  None.  Then I called the phone company and had an international calling plan attached.  $4 a month and 25 cents a minute.  Hope I get to use it.

As I started talking to the phone dude, my daughter texted me and asked if I would be home and could she come visit.  Who would say no to that?  Certainly not this lonely old man.  And think of Banjo!  She is his absolute favorite person.  She arrived and I showed her the "new" floors.  She was amazed.  I thanked her.

Then we talked.  And talked. And talked.  She is an adult but feels a bit lost as she is not doing anything her friends are doing like going to college or getting married or traveling abroad.  She takes one class at the local community college where she lives and has a job.  I assured her she was doing just fine.  I just about said look how long it took me to find my way but thought better of it and shut my pie hole.  I listened to her talk about herself and was in awe of the insightful awareness she had.  What a great person she is and will be.  I told her that I don't have hope or faith that she will do well.  I told her I KNOW you will do well.  She wouldn't have it any other way.  I love being around her but understand that when it's time to go, she needs to get up and go.  That anxiety thing can really fuck up your life if you let it.

Anxiety.  Don't let it get you.  It's a mindfuck and it only gets worse if you give it wings.  I'm working on it.  I've got a handle on it and I know that it is just a matter of changing my pattern of thought.  That and a glass of wine can do wonders.  The power of positive thinking?

It works.