Just when you thought. . . .

It's true. I, and most Americans, simply believed that things would turn around with something as arbitrary as the calendar. What heartbreak. What a shock to have our Federal Capitol violated. And yet. Not such a shock, was it? Certainly predictable in hindsight.

So Jasper and I continue to walk. I continue to make stuff. Cook stuff. Switch from wine to scotch. Try to figure out What To Do. 

Dry Creek is anything but. The water continued to run through the summer and fall, and now it roars. What comfort. The trail is packed hard with trodden ice. Jasper doesn't mind, and neither do my hiking shoes.

In the studio, the clay is slowly illuminating herself. It was not the porcelain that was causing the slumping. Well, not directly. It was firing it slightly higher. Pretty sure. It's not terribly easy to see (or photograph), but when rolled to the same thickness, neither the porcelain (left) or the stoneware (BC6, right) slumped when fired to cone 5. 

 The previous porcelain (which slumped to flat!) was fired to cone 6. The temperature difference isn't that great, but it must have been enough. These are pretty sweet little pieces. The colors don't show well in these photos. Larger and they could be dinner plates. 

Looming in the background of all that I do, though, is the suspicion that our civilization may have already ended. We're just waiting for the crumbling to reach us. Here. There. Throughout. What a thing.

So care for this small family. This small piece of land. This worthy creature (John too). Try to figure out how to effect change with no lever except to further incite unrest. Be Patient. Wait.Wait. Wait. Not my forte.

The last day of the holiday. . . .

 

Jasper and his Christmas bow

Well. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the new work year. We were looking for no more than to survive the holidays, and we did better than that. A small victory. Our handsome boy wore his red velvet ribbon with no complaint, though maybe a little embarrassment. I'm hoping it wasn't just giving up. It seems not. He grows more comfortable with each day, and of course I'm not above rearranging furniture to help him feel less constrained. . . more able to move in and out; up and down. We had a major victory a week or so ago, when he let out a small "woof" in the middle of the night and went charging out the dog door. We didn't figure out who the intruder was, but he came back in smelling of rosemary, so that at least gave us his trajectory. Into the herb garden. Cat? Badger? Possum? Mountain lion? (the last is unlikely but not impossible). Still. He clearly saw the yard as his to protect. Another victory. Yay, Jasper. 

The daughters are safe, if not free from worry. The kind we all have these days. This multi-faceted illness/society/world sort of concern that isn't easily expressed in words. "How are your children? How are the kids?" is always my second question to friends not seen for a while. It is literal, but also something more. "How are all of the things that concern you most closely? How are you coping with this threat to all that you hold most dear?" 

Jasper. Unambiguously good.

How can we come together? How can we understand each other? How can we bear to be in the same room with those who would threaten this civilization? How can we help?

Tomorrow I will walk Jasper. I will make things. I will try to figure out other ways to make our small corner of the world a better place.