Water will not melt you.
It will only get so hot
And then it turns to steam.
I filled the porcelain tub
With the hot water faucet
All open, a plug in the drain.
I'm taking a hot bath
For the first time in three years.
Things change like they are
Invisible. You can't really see
The change, but you feel it.
The longest of any of the
Days of my life. Three
Years. I will not melt.
I will evaporate into the
Whisp of wind through
The gaping window, close
My eyes and float along
With the whisp. In a tub
Of very hot water.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Today was made for today...
The singularity of nowness has descended upon my shoulders. I awoke at 6:30AM and actually swung my feet around and onto the floor and stood up. Previously in my life, like last night, I had been productive in the studio. I had thrown some bowls intended to end up as knitting bowls and trimmed and decorated one of the dryer ones. This particular clay is a very wet porcelain that needs a deft, tough touch to get to shape. Once you have the thickness, you can run your finger up and down the inside of the bowl to give it definition and shape; a chance to make it unique. Depending on the humidity, it is raining today, the pots will dry enough to trim and handle overnight. I am glad for the rain and humidity. It slows the evaporation which lessens the chance for distortion when shrinking. It's a problem in the summer when you can throw a pot in the morning and have to trim in the afternoon. Actually, it does make a good routine and I do get a lot done during the fast drying months. If needed, I can cover the pots in thick plastic to slow the drying.
Being awake, and I mean wide awake, at 6:30AM was a totally different way to start the day. I remembered to eat breakfast, made a pot of coffee, put on the shorts and shoes I had on the night before, grabbed a ginormous cup of coffee, and headed to the studio to see what needed to be done. At the least there would be trimming. At the most, the completion of the bowl to its purpose. In this case, a knitting bowl.
I was very glad to have something to do as long as I was going to be awake.
I unlatched and threw open the huge shop door to let the air in and the clay dust out. As it is garbage day, I threw the studio refuse container onto the hand truck for the bumpy trip to the street where the 90 gallon plastic container barely half full sat, waiting for the truck to come and squeeze its guts like mustard onto a Polish dog on top of the kraut.
What I ignore time after time is that the studio refuse container can get too heavy to lift into the 90 gallon plastic container. Today, in fact, I had to unload about 1/3 of the load by hand before it was light enough to lift onto my shoulder and dump in to the 90 gallon plastic container. Now the container was 3/4 full and heavy. Call me paranoid, but I think they weigh my garbage. Then again, they probably weigh everyone's garbage so they know when their trucks are full. Whatever.
Making the knitting bowl should be a delicate process. Undue, unnatural force is being used with a semi-fragile substance with leather hard clay. It is malleable enough to work with but dry enough to hold its shape. The possibility of distortion is a given. In a perfect world...
I trim the bottom of the bowl first. Before turning the bowl upside down on the wheel, I turn it in my hands, learning it, seeing where it needs to be trimmed, feeling the bottom to see how deep of a foot ring can be made. I like to make a definitive foot ring but sometimes do not leave enough clay at the bottom to do so.
I place the bowl upside down on the wheel and center it then secure it. I start the wheel and take a larger trimming tool to take the rough edges off first. Once that is done and everything is uniform, I go to smaller, more detail oriented tools for the personal touch. I work on the belly and the body first, scraping the body smooth with my finger amputating metal rib. This takes the throw lines off and the body becomes smooth. A smooth porcelain body becomes a canvas for beyond imagination design. You can create emotion with color. I love to create.
Once I have the belly trimmed, the foot ring, if there is one, is trimmed. When everything is trimmed to satisfaction, I take a damp sponge and wipe every thing down with the wheel spinning at what ever speed you like. This leaves the bottom wet for a minute or two so I don't handle them at all. I stare at the wall for two minutes or until I think the pot is dry enough to sign. I have a metal scribe a student made for me that I sign my name with on the bottom of the pot. Then, if there is carving or decorating to be done, for example, put a bird on it, this is when it would be done. Each piece is usually worked on until it is done then the next goes through the same process. Then they are set on a drying rack to completely air dry in order to be bisque fired.
The production of a knitting bowl requires a quiet mind. I admit that I had headphones plugged into my iPhone and was signing loudly and rocking out last night in the studio. I was wedging the clay, kneading it as if I were making bread. This is a physical effort to which I attribute the definition of my shoulders. That's why I had the tattoos put there. Hardly any sagging. :)
With the wedging and the rocking out out of the way, it was time to take off the headphones and to center myself and listen to the clay. Sometimes it is a dance between hands and particles of clay that seem to have a mind of their own. Porcelain is a thirsty clay meaning it needs a lot of lubrication. Water. That's where delicate balance comes in. Too much water, the clay will become saturated and unable to hold itself up. It slumps. Not enough water and you get caught on a dry spot that catches your finger if only for a second but long enough to produce a wub in the pot. Very hard to fix and not really worth the time. Just make another.
The way I do it is to keep the water going in and out. That way there is very little standing water at any time in the pot. When pulling, I will sponge out the water before a pull, then squeeze water from the sponge onto my fingers that are running along the rim of the pot. That puts the water evenly on the outside and the inside and not to much on the bottom. Then I pull. When finished pulling and shaping at each stage I sponge the water off the whole pot. At times, I will grab the amputating metal rib and scrape the water off the outside of the pot while using the spong e to remove water from the inside of the pot. Okay, was that redundant enough?
Once the pot is thrown, its been shaped and sponged off, I take a piece of chamois cloth, completely soaked, and run it on the rim of the pot, pressing slightly to compress the rim. This lessens the chance of a chip later in its life.
And after all that, and the trimming and decorating comes the quiet mind part. I will carve a channel into this bowl, taking a piece of it out of the pot. Do not think doom and gloom. Think: if this part of the process goes well, a very useful tool, a knitting bowl, will emerge. Also Think: by carving a channel into a round object and removing a piece thereby disrupting the symmetry, the bowl itself will react uniquely in the drying process.
I start with a French Curve and trace two arched lines for the path of the cut. I determine where the notch the yarn comes out of and take a 1/4 inch drill bit and drill a hole. I take a little brush tool, kind of like a baby bottle brush only really small, and clean out the hole. Then I pick up the fettling knife that I have sharpened. Fettling knives are supposed to be kind of dull so you can't cut yourself. Yes, I'm typing this with tape wrapped around a finger that was the victim of the sharpened fettling knife. Never mind about that.
I insert the knife in the drilled hole and press slightly, following the line I traced. The bowl is sitting sideways on my lap and I am pressing down on it. This is where I could lose the bowl with a cracked rim from too much or uneven pressure.
My fingers are supporting the clay as I move the knife along the line. If the clay is too dry, it could crack and a chunk would come off and the knitting bowl becomes yard art. I stop, pull the knife out of the clay, and start to move the knife back and forth in a sawing motion on the rim where the lines for the opening are. This is to prevent a big chunk of clay from separating from the rim. It's not surefire but it's the best I've got.
If all goes well, you've just cut a j shaped notch
into your bowl defining its future use. From this dy forward, this is a knitting bowl. Soup will never work. If you don't believe that, just try it.
No matter what I decide to do to the bowl before or after, once the notch is cut, you have a one of a kind dedicated use item. It's a beautiful thing.
They are set on a wooden shelf to dry. When bone dry, I load them into the kiln for the first firing, the bisque firing.
This day is just that. Spring rain has slammed into the ground. It figures. They just sprayed the orchard yesterday. Now they have to do it again. It is nothing more than kaolin, a fine clay that covers the bark and prevent the piranha from carving away at tree flesh. The rain has dictated this day from demeanor to transaction. It is totally zen. This one day. This now. This this. Pretty dang cool.
Being awake, and I mean wide awake, at 6:30AM was a totally different way to start the day. I remembered to eat breakfast, made a pot of coffee, put on the shorts and shoes I had on the night before, grabbed a ginormous cup of coffee, and headed to the studio to see what needed to be done. At the least there would be trimming. At the most, the completion of the bowl to its purpose. In this case, a knitting bowl.
I was very glad to have something to do as long as I was going to be awake.
I unlatched and threw open the huge shop door to let the air in and the clay dust out. As it is garbage day, I threw the studio refuse container onto the hand truck for the bumpy trip to the street where the 90 gallon plastic container barely half full sat, waiting for the truck to come and squeeze its guts like mustard onto a Polish dog on top of the kraut.
What I ignore time after time is that the studio refuse container can get too heavy to lift into the 90 gallon plastic container. Today, in fact, I had to unload about 1/3 of the load by hand before it was light enough to lift onto my shoulder and dump in to the 90 gallon plastic container. Now the container was 3/4 full and heavy. Call me paranoid, but I think they weigh my garbage. Then again, they probably weigh everyone's garbage so they know when their trucks are full. Whatever.
Making the knitting bowl should be a delicate process. Undue, unnatural force is being used with a semi-fragile substance with leather hard clay. It is malleable enough to work with but dry enough to hold its shape. The possibility of distortion is a given. In a perfect world...
I trim the bottom of the bowl first. Before turning the bowl upside down on the wheel, I turn it in my hands, learning it, seeing where it needs to be trimmed, feeling the bottom to see how deep of a foot ring can be made. I like to make a definitive foot ring but sometimes do not leave enough clay at the bottom to do so.
I place the bowl upside down on the wheel and center it then secure it. I start the wheel and take a larger trimming tool to take the rough edges off first. Once that is done and everything is uniform, I go to smaller, more detail oriented tools for the personal touch. I work on the belly and the body first, scraping the body smooth with my finger amputating metal rib. This takes the throw lines off and the body becomes smooth. A smooth porcelain body becomes a canvas for beyond imagination design. You can create emotion with color. I love to create.
Once I have the belly trimmed, the foot ring, if there is one, is trimmed. When everything is trimmed to satisfaction, I take a damp sponge and wipe every thing down with the wheel spinning at what ever speed you like. This leaves the bottom wet for a minute or two so I don't handle them at all. I stare at the wall for two minutes or until I think the pot is dry enough to sign. I have a metal scribe a student made for me that I sign my name with on the bottom of the pot. Then, if there is carving or decorating to be done, for example, put a bird on it, this is when it would be done. Each piece is usually worked on until it is done then the next goes through the same process. Then they are set on a drying rack to completely air dry in order to be bisque fired.
The production of a knitting bowl requires a quiet mind. I admit that I had headphones plugged into my iPhone and was signing loudly and rocking out last night in the studio. I was wedging the clay, kneading it as if I were making bread. This is a physical effort to which I attribute the definition of my shoulders. That's why I had the tattoos put there. Hardly any sagging. :)
With the wedging and the rocking out out of the way, it was time to take off the headphones and to center myself and listen to the clay. Sometimes it is a dance between hands and particles of clay that seem to have a mind of their own. Porcelain is a thirsty clay meaning it needs a lot of lubrication. Water. That's where delicate balance comes in. Too much water, the clay will become saturated and unable to hold itself up. It slumps. Not enough water and you get caught on a dry spot that catches your finger if only for a second but long enough to produce a wub in the pot. Very hard to fix and not really worth the time. Just make another.
The way I do it is to keep the water going in and out. That way there is very little standing water at any time in the pot. When pulling, I will sponge out the water before a pull, then squeeze water from the sponge onto my fingers that are running along the rim of the pot. That puts the water evenly on the outside and the inside and not to much on the bottom. Then I pull. When finished pulling and shaping at each stage I sponge the water off the whole pot. At times, I will grab the amputating metal rib and scrape the water off the outside of the pot while using the spong e to remove water from the inside of the pot. Okay, was that redundant enough?
Once the pot is thrown, its been shaped and sponged off, I take a piece of chamois cloth, completely soaked, and run it on the rim of the pot, pressing slightly to compress the rim. This lessens the chance of a chip later in its life.
And after all that, and the trimming and decorating comes the quiet mind part. I will carve a channel into this bowl, taking a piece of it out of the pot. Do not think doom and gloom. Think: if this part of the process goes well, a very useful tool, a knitting bowl, will emerge. Also Think: by carving a channel into a round object and removing a piece thereby disrupting the symmetry, the bowl itself will react uniquely in the drying process.
I start with a French Curve and trace two arched lines for the path of the cut. I determine where the notch the yarn comes out of and take a 1/4 inch drill bit and drill a hole. I take a little brush tool, kind of like a baby bottle brush only really small, and clean out the hole. Then I pick up the fettling knife that I have sharpened. Fettling knives are supposed to be kind of dull so you can't cut yourself. Yes, I'm typing this with tape wrapped around a finger that was the victim of the sharpened fettling knife. Never mind about that.
I insert the knife in the drilled hole and press slightly, following the line I traced. The bowl is sitting sideways on my lap and I am pressing down on it. This is where I could lose the bowl with a cracked rim from too much or uneven pressure.
My fingers are supporting the clay as I move the knife along the line. If the clay is too dry, it could crack and a chunk would come off and the knitting bowl becomes yard art. I stop, pull the knife out of the clay, and start to move the knife back and forth in a sawing motion on the rim where the lines for the opening are. This is to prevent a big chunk of clay from separating from the rim. It's not surefire but it's the best I've got.
If all goes well, you've just cut a j shaped notch
No matter what I decide to do to the bowl before or after, once the notch is cut, you have a one of a kind dedicated use item. It's a beautiful thing.
They are set on a wooden shelf to dry. When bone dry, I load them into the kiln for the first firing, the bisque firing.
This day is just that. Spring rain has slammed into the ground. It figures. They just sprayed the orchard yesterday. Now they have to do it again. It is nothing more than kaolin, a fine clay that covers the bark and prevent the piranha from carving away at tree flesh. The rain has dictated this day from demeanor to transaction. It is totally zen. This one day. This now. This this. Pretty dang cool.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Take You There
Abstruse to me
When the music
Induces inspiration
Without affectation.
Dance with me
To the din
From sound projecting
Cones encased in wood
Until we are Sufi
And one with God
In music. Listen,
It is my philosophy,
My mantra,
My truth,
One
Song
At
A
Time.
Praise the people
Whose souls suffer
So that
We
May
Dance.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
C'mon. Sit With Me
C'mon. Sit
With me with
Your mondogynormous
Yellow bird mug
To the rim
With coffee.
The couch is
Sturdy and strong
To support the both
Of us. Curl your
Legs underneath
And lean into
Me. Ooops. You
Made me spill.
I don't care.
It wil dry.
A smile creases
My crinkled face
As I sit with
My own too big
To be legal mug
Full of flavored
Caffeine. The addiction
Is in the need
As much as the
Substance. We
Sip simultaneously,
The same slurping sound.
We look at each other
And laugh.
"Quick! Make a wish,"
You laugh more
Than say.
I close my eyes
And wish.
With me with
Your mondogynormous
Yellow bird mug
To the rim
With coffee.
The couch is
Sturdy and strong
To support the both
Of us. Curl your
Legs underneath
And lean into
Me. Ooops. You
Made me spill.
I don't care.
It wil dry.
A smile creases
My crinkled face
As I sit with
My own too big
To be legal mug
Full of flavored
Caffeine. The addiction
Is in the need
As much as the
Substance. We
Sip simultaneously,
The same slurping sound.
We look at each other
And laugh.
"Quick! Make a wish,"
You laugh more
Than say.
I close my eyes
And wish.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Release...
One of the best songs ever written. I always cry tears of joy when I hear this song performed well. Thank you, Herr Beethoven: Ode To Joy
The Desperation Bracket...
I wrote abut my experiences the second time around with online dating. I mentioned having to tell people that I did not care to meet with them again. This is hard for me as I hate to hurt feelings in that way. I've steeled myself for the task.
A tangent I was going to talk about but either forgot or...yeah, I forgot, was the age factor and how desperation works into it. What i've noticed so far is that you are far more likely to get a response from someone who is between the ages of 55 and 63. For lack of a better phrase, I call this the Desperation Bracket.
My observation, and I'm an amateur at this, is that the older people get, the more they understand that time is running out for them in the dating world. Sure, people fall in love at 70 and still marry and it's cute and always makes the paper. But time is running out.
As we end our days on the planet, our need for social companionship does not diminish. In fact, it may increase. There are plenty of people who are fine by themselves and carry on. Their partner has probably passed on and within a year or so, they will join them. It happened to my grandparents. After Grandpa passed, Grandma called me all the time. She was lonely after being with the same man for 63 years. Now he was dead and she was living in her house alone. She told me how lonely she was. I thought after finishing college, I might find a teaching job in her town. I did, actually, but it was only half time position. I needed full-time.
Grandma did see me graduate but passed soon after. She died of a broken heart.
A lot of the profiles I read always say they are happy with the way their life is but would be better shared. I agree. I think it is in our DNA to have a companion. Our brains are wired that way. Of course, we can rewire our brains with consistent thoughts (think meditation) or some mantra that gets us through the day. In the end, though, we were meant to be with someone.
The Desperation Bracket makes attempt after attempt to find someone they can feel safe with, comfortable with, someone they can love. Some may never get there. Yet, they still try. Try they must until death or they just give up.
Giving up is not an option for me. I am relatively young, in the middle of the Desperation Bracket, I am not ugly. I am slender, strong (finally) and still have a job and a house. I am an honest person and laugh and make others laugh. I am exuberant, energetic (I mowed the lawn yesterday) and know who I am and what I want/need. I am confident. My shrink says that a man my age does not stay single long. From my experience, that seems to be true.
When I tell someone that I am not interested in them the way they are interested in me, I feel badly as I know I'm putting that person back into the jungle of online dating. I'm not sticking around just so someone can be happy and I end up miserable.
It is very important to stay monogamous. Actually, I think it is better referred to as celibacy. Whatever, keep yourself strong so that when someone comes around that delights you, you have something special to share with them. Yes, sexual tension rears its head and we start looking for a short-term mate. The tension can be released by fucking one of your dates, even if they are not a date. Then what? Keep each other on the line for the next time? It works for some people. It's never worked for me although when travelling as a musician, I had plenty of meaningless sexual encounters. Some of them I remember. How rude is that?
I had one correspondent tell me she hadn't been with a man for three years. Now that's monogamy although maybe to the extreme. Still, I will not meet this person. She is in the Desperation Bracket. My profile photos show the honesty in my face. That is what I have been told by every correspondent when I asked why they chose to correspond with me. I'm flattered but think you should base a choice on more than just a photograph. Wait a minute...that's how it starts. If the photo doesn't do much for you, I guarantee a real life meet up will be disappointing. It is my experience that people look much better in their photos than in real life. That's ok. It works that way with me, too.
The physical attraction of the profile photos gets you interested enough to read the profile. From there, if you make contact, you just have to see how it goes.
Some of the people I correspond with have been online for a few years. I fear some of these people will never connect with someone and will grow old alone. I have to be realistic about my part in all of this.
Online dating is a self-centered activity. You look for someone you think you might be compatible with and go from there. If you are in the Desperation Bracket, you are online all the time.
The dreariness of winter is gone and my heart is filled with love and hope. Desperation is gone. I have time, not a lot but some. I am enjoying my life now. Still, I need that intimate social interaction with a member of the female species. The lines on my face are getting deeper. I'm not getting younger. None of us is.
A tangent I was going to talk about but either forgot or...yeah, I forgot, was the age factor and how desperation works into it. What i've noticed so far is that you are far more likely to get a response from someone who is between the ages of 55 and 63. For lack of a better phrase, I call this the Desperation Bracket.
My observation, and I'm an amateur at this, is that the older people get, the more they understand that time is running out for them in the dating world. Sure, people fall in love at 70 and still marry and it's cute and always makes the paper. But time is running out.
As we end our days on the planet, our need for social companionship does not diminish. In fact, it may increase. There are plenty of people who are fine by themselves and carry on. Their partner has probably passed on and within a year or so, they will join them. It happened to my grandparents. After Grandpa passed, Grandma called me all the time. She was lonely after being with the same man for 63 years. Now he was dead and she was living in her house alone. She told me how lonely she was. I thought after finishing college, I might find a teaching job in her town. I did, actually, but it was only half time position. I needed full-time.
Grandma did see me graduate but passed soon after. She died of a broken heart.
A lot of the profiles I read always say they are happy with the way their life is but would be better shared. I agree. I think it is in our DNA to have a companion. Our brains are wired that way. Of course, we can rewire our brains with consistent thoughts (think meditation) or some mantra that gets us through the day. In the end, though, we were meant to be with someone.
The Desperation Bracket makes attempt after attempt to find someone they can feel safe with, comfortable with, someone they can love. Some may never get there. Yet, they still try. Try they must until death or they just give up.
Giving up is not an option for me. I am relatively young, in the middle of the Desperation Bracket, I am not ugly. I am slender, strong (finally) and still have a job and a house. I am an honest person and laugh and make others laugh. I am exuberant, energetic (I mowed the lawn yesterday) and know who I am and what I want/need. I am confident. My shrink says that a man my age does not stay single long. From my experience, that seems to be true.
When I tell someone that I am not interested in them the way they are interested in me, I feel badly as I know I'm putting that person back into the jungle of online dating. I'm not sticking around just so someone can be happy and I end up miserable.
It is very important to stay monogamous. Actually, I think it is better referred to as celibacy. Whatever, keep yourself strong so that when someone comes around that delights you, you have something special to share with them. Yes, sexual tension rears its head and we start looking for a short-term mate. The tension can be released by fucking one of your dates, even if they are not a date. Then what? Keep each other on the line for the next time? It works for some people. It's never worked for me although when travelling as a musician, I had plenty of meaningless sexual encounters. Some of them I remember. How rude is that?
I had one correspondent tell me she hadn't been with a man for three years. Now that's monogamy although maybe to the extreme. Still, I will not meet this person. She is in the Desperation Bracket. My profile photos show the honesty in my face. That is what I have been told by every correspondent when I asked why they chose to correspond with me. I'm flattered but think you should base a choice on more than just a photograph. Wait a minute...that's how it starts. If the photo doesn't do much for you, I guarantee a real life meet up will be disappointing. It is my experience that people look much better in their photos than in real life. That's ok. It works that way with me, too.
The physical attraction of the profile photos gets you interested enough to read the profile. From there, if you make contact, you just have to see how it goes.
Some of the people I correspond with have been online for a few years. I fear some of these people will never connect with someone and will grow old alone. I have to be realistic about my part in all of this.
Online dating is a self-centered activity. You look for someone you think you might be compatible with and go from there. If you are in the Desperation Bracket, you are online all the time.
The dreariness of winter is gone and my heart is filled with love and hope. Desperation is gone. I have time, not a lot but some. I am enjoying my life now. Still, I need that intimate social interaction with a member of the female species. The lines on my face are getting deeper. I'm not getting younger. None of us is.
Some Things Are Hard for Me to Believe
Gonzaga did not make it to the Sweet Sixteen, but they have before. And will again. This is the only time of year I consciously choose to watch televised sports. I like to follow GU only because it is my alma mater. John Stockton graduated from GU the year before I got there. There were wall sized posters of him in the gym. They may yet be there. I watched him on tv as he watched his son from the stands. He had been there before. John Stockton was back in SLC not as a player on the Utah Jazz, but as a father of a son who was playing for his alma mater. It became obvious to me about 3 minutes out that there was no hope for a comeback from Gonzaga. They lost and it is just as well. I don't have a lot of free time these days and if GU had won, they would still be going and so would I. I wish they could have hung in there.
It's fine that they lost. In order to watch the game on someplace other than my computer, I asked my friend Michelle if she was watching the game. She has Dish TV with a million and two channels. I figured she would have it. Yes, was the answer. She had an app on her phone that told her where and when the game was to be played and on what channel. It was almost halftime before she could find the game. Then, once she located it, she wanted to know how she got there and promptly turned off the game as she explored the various button options, combo button options, etc., but when I pleaded with her to put the game back on, she could not find it. I offered to try and find it but she would not give me the remote. Not that she wouldn't, she is ADD also and needed to figure out how she did what she did. I understood but wanted to watch the game. I said a few things like, "You just had it..." but pretty much just let it go. I understood what she was doing and why. She told me she was going to start taking Adderall for her ADD. I thought that was a good idea. She could certainly stand to lose some weight for the sake of her health.
She finds the game. Thank you. At half time, we had taco soup with tortillas and sour cream. I told a joke to the 6 year-old boy, and the eight-year-old girl, and with her own cell phone. It went like this: "Knock, knock. 'Who's there?' "Dwayne.' 'Dwayne who?' 'Dwayne da bathtub, I'm dwowning.'" Evidently, they had never heard it before and were laughing and laughing. Even their mom laughed. Here I was feeling kind of stupid because the only joke I could remember was a really old one. But they were laughing and swore they had never heard it before. Talk about a generation gap.
Dinner ended when the ballgame started up again. My hostess, actually, I invited myself, was watching the game, texting, and playing Word Play on her phone. Anytime I said something to her, I was interrupting something. I didn't get angry but felt ignored but that was fine as I just wanted to watch the game. When she started cheering when the opponents made a basket, I thought she flipped. She had. She was cheering because she thought Gonzaga was making the baskets. I reminded here, even with my minute knowledge of the game, that the teams switch baskets at the end of the half. We were well into the second half.
I curled my legs under my butt and sat in the leather chair watching the game. Gonzaga lost, I offered to help with dishes, and then got the hell out of there. I did get to talk to the kids about their dad. He's a pilot who's route is between Pittsburg and Cancun. They showed me a photo of him.
I don't go back and reread these posts but I know that I mentioned that I had put myself back in the online dating business. I am somewhat overwhelmed by the response and have dutifully tried to keep up with the emails. There is something in me, a part of my persona maybe, that feels an obligation to respond but some have to be let go and not responded to. The caliber of intelligent response has been more than I expected. I've met with two so far. One is a fabric artist and is in the same frame of mind as I am about my art right now. It just seems as if there are other forces at work keeping us from getting into the studio and getting some work done. Her work is of extreme high quality and sells for thousands. She has published a book and exhibited nationwide. she has writer's bloc, so to speak. I realized, from corresponding with her, that I was keeping myself out of the studio. The non working kiln was an excuse I used to not work. Once I went to Seattle and got a new controller for my kiln, (and installed it without getting electrocuted) I made myself go in and throw some pots. I wanted to do it. Hell, I used to throw every day. Now, I hadn't thrown in a month. My first pots flopped as I was rusty and wasn't yet zoned in to where I was. But I was throwing again. I made it over the fence.
She emailed me for a week, telling me about her efforts to make art and read to her elder mother. I guessed I missed a day and she emailed me and just came out and asked me if there was a romantic interest on my part because there was on hers and her friend suggested she just come out and ask me. She did.
I try to be black and white about things. Innuendo, inference, suggestion...c'mon, just say what you have to say kind of guy. I have the character flaw of expecting that out of every one else. It does not go that way.
So, I was black and white about it. I had been very careful all along to not write anything or make any statements indicating any sort of fondness or growing fondness. I relayed that to her in the responding email I sent. I apologized if I had done so as that it was never my intention. She wrote back and thanked me for clearing that up. I will probably never her from her again.
There are a lot of people in my life that fit in that category. For example, my good friend Dirk, who I played in a band with and lived with while he attended Eastern Oregon University as a music major. He played guitar in the band but you could throw anything at him and he could play it. His main instrument is trombone. I always hope I get to see him again.
I met with another correspondent Friday night in Ellensburg. A state university is located there along with a plethora of single female college professors. I met with one of the department heads. She looked exactly like her photos, which was not good. I came into this with a good, free and open mind and would have fun. The drive is an hour each way but the scenery is gorgeous and there is eternal sky with poofy clouds.
We met at a wine bar and she had ordered a bottle of wine. I was late, as normal, and laughed as I asked, "Am I late?" Since she was the only person in the place sitting by themselves who looked like her photographs, I sat down. We shook hands but eye contact was sporadic as I worked my brain to settle in and talk and have a good time. At least we were both intelligent enough to carry on an meaningful conversation. She told me about her ex, about her three kids at home. Keep in mind she is 56. The conversation ended up being focused on our errant daughters. Her daughter is in the ninth grade. My daughter is in Italy!!!! and having the time of her life and she knows it. This is going to be one changed in the right direction kid. I'm sure there will be some let down once she gets back but, if she sticks to her plan, she will be in college this fall. She wants to stay with me when she gets back. Hmmm...we'll see. There will be no car here for her to drive.
So, the professor emailed me Saturday to tell me what a great time she had, did I make it back ok? She stated she wanted to meet again. My response will be the same. This time there was absolutely no intention of any sort of romantic connection. I knew going into it there wouldn't be. I accepted an invitation and did well. I was polite, funny, serious when needed. We killed a bottle of wine that night and talked for three hours but for me it was a grand opportunity to talk to someone at a higher level of cognition but not so smart that we lost our place. Like I said, we mostly talked about our daughters.
I had planned to meet yet another correspondent this coming weekend. It just so happens that my oldest daughter is coming to town and wants to see me. That preempts everything. My darling, sweet daughter will be here to make me laugh.
When I was online earlier, I got lucky and met somebody who set the standard for any who come after. My desire is to stay with the standard. The standard is part of me. I take it with me. I want to touch her again.
It's fine that they lost. In order to watch the game on someplace other than my computer, I asked my friend Michelle if she was watching the game. She has Dish TV with a million and two channels. I figured she would have it. Yes, was the answer. She had an app on her phone that told her where and when the game was to be played and on what channel. It was almost halftime before she could find the game. Then, once she located it, she wanted to know how she got there and promptly turned off the game as she explored the various button options, combo button options, etc., but when I pleaded with her to put the game back on, she could not find it. I offered to try and find it but she would not give me the remote. Not that she wouldn't, she is ADD also and needed to figure out how she did what she did. I understood but wanted to watch the game. I said a few things like, "You just had it..." but pretty much just let it go. I understood what she was doing and why. She told me she was going to start taking Adderall for her ADD. I thought that was a good idea. She could certainly stand to lose some weight for the sake of her health.
She finds the game. Thank you. At half time, we had taco soup with tortillas and sour cream. I told a joke to the 6 year-old boy, and the eight-year-old girl, and with her own cell phone. It went like this: "Knock, knock. 'Who's there?' "Dwayne.' 'Dwayne who?' 'Dwayne da bathtub, I'm dwowning.'" Evidently, they had never heard it before and were laughing and laughing. Even their mom laughed. Here I was feeling kind of stupid because the only joke I could remember was a really old one. But they were laughing and swore they had never heard it before. Talk about a generation gap.
Dinner ended when the ballgame started up again. My hostess, actually, I invited myself, was watching the game, texting, and playing Word Play on her phone. Anytime I said something to her, I was interrupting something. I didn't get angry but felt ignored but that was fine as I just wanted to watch the game. When she started cheering when the opponents made a basket, I thought she flipped. She had. She was cheering because she thought Gonzaga was making the baskets. I reminded here, even with my minute knowledge of the game, that the teams switch baskets at the end of the half. We were well into the second half.
I curled my legs under my butt and sat in the leather chair watching the game. Gonzaga lost, I offered to help with dishes, and then got the hell out of there. I did get to talk to the kids about their dad. He's a pilot who's route is between Pittsburg and Cancun. They showed me a photo of him.
I don't go back and reread these posts but I know that I mentioned that I had put myself back in the online dating business. I am somewhat overwhelmed by the response and have dutifully tried to keep up with the emails. There is something in me, a part of my persona maybe, that feels an obligation to respond but some have to be let go and not responded to. The caliber of intelligent response has been more than I expected. I've met with two so far. One is a fabric artist and is in the same frame of mind as I am about my art right now. It just seems as if there are other forces at work keeping us from getting into the studio and getting some work done. Her work is of extreme high quality and sells for thousands. She has published a book and exhibited nationwide. she has writer's bloc, so to speak. I realized, from corresponding with her, that I was keeping myself out of the studio. The non working kiln was an excuse I used to not work. Once I went to Seattle and got a new controller for my kiln, (and installed it without getting electrocuted) I made myself go in and throw some pots. I wanted to do it. Hell, I used to throw every day. Now, I hadn't thrown in a month. My first pots flopped as I was rusty and wasn't yet zoned in to where I was. But I was throwing again. I made it over the fence.
She emailed me for a week, telling me about her efforts to make art and read to her elder mother. I guessed I missed a day and she emailed me and just came out and asked me if there was a romantic interest on my part because there was on hers and her friend suggested she just come out and ask me. She did.
I try to be black and white about things. Innuendo, inference, suggestion...c'mon, just say what you have to say kind of guy. I have the character flaw of expecting that out of every one else. It does not go that way.
So, I was black and white about it. I had been very careful all along to not write anything or make any statements indicating any sort of fondness or growing fondness. I relayed that to her in the responding email I sent. I apologized if I had done so as that it was never my intention. She wrote back and thanked me for clearing that up. I will probably never her from her again.
There are a lot of people in my life that fit in that category. For example, my good friend Dirk, who I played in a band with and lived with while he attended Eastern Oregon University as a music major. He played guitar in the band but you could throw anything at him and he could play it. His main instrument is trombone. I always hope I get to see him again.
I met with another correspondent Friday night in Ellensburg. A state university is located there along with a plethora of single female college professors. I met with one of the department heads. She looked exactly like her photos, which was not good. I came into this with a good, free and open mind and would have fun. The drive is an hour each way but the scenery is gorgeous and there is eternal sky with poofy clouds.
We met at a wine bar and she had ordered a bottle of wine. I was late, as normal, and laughed as I asked, "Am I late?" Since she was the only person in the place sitting by themselves who looked like her photographs, I sat down. We shook hands but eye contact was sporadic as I worked my brain to settle in and talk and have a good time. At least we were both intelligent enough to carry on an meaningful conversation. She told me about her ex, about her three kids at home. Keep in mind she is 56. The conversation ended up being focused on our errant daughters. Her daughter is in the ninth grade. My daughter is in Italy!!!! and having the time of her life and she knows it. This is going to be one changed in the right direction kid. I'm sure there will be some let down once she gets back but, if she sticks to her plan, she will be in college this fall. She wants to stay with me when she gets back. Hmmm...we'll see. There will be no car here for her to drive.
So, the professor emailed me Saturday to tell me what a great time she had, did I make it back ok? She stated she wanted to meet again. My response will be the same. This time there was absolutely no intention of any sort of romantic connection. I knew going into it there wouldn't be. I accepted an invitation and did well. I was polite, funny, serious when needed. We killed a bottle of wine that night and talked for three hours but for me it was a grand opportunity to talk to someone at a higher level of cognition but not so smart that we lost our place. Like I said, we mostly talked about our daughters.
I had planned to meet yet another correspondent this coming weekend. It just so happens that my oldest daughter is coming to town and wants to see me. That preempts everything. My darling, sweet daughter will be here to make me laugh.
When I was online earlier, I got lucky and met somebody who set the standard for any who come after. My desire is to stay with the standard. The standard is part of me. I take it with me. I want to touch her again.
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