I've got it all over Jane Goodall. To make friends with wildlife, she had to go to the deep, dark jungles full of crocodiles, tsetse flies, tents and very poor room service. All *I* do is go home. My friend Shelby and I trekked down south a few weeks ago to pick up Nikki the Tikimaus and The Princess Lola. We returned with two carrierfuls of terrified kitten yowling to be let O-U-T. We set the carriers on the floor of the cat isolation center (AKA the laundry room), unfastened the doors and stepped back, expecting to see two furry streaks running past.
The salesclerk looked dubious. “Have you gotten one of these in this car before?” he asked. I’ve never GOTTEN one of these before,” I replied, and he started shoving a ginormous cat tree into CherryBaby’s back seat and out the window. “Well, I got one of these in a lady’s car last week, so I can probably get it in [...]
Hey--just a fast note for Ernie lovers: Ernie's mom is in the news. Brenda Griffith, the powerhouse GlassValkyrie wonderwoman of Atlanta, is doing her best to convert the South to kilnforming (and beadmaking and glassblowing and, apparently, nude dates at the gloryhole, but that's another story).
"Guys, get in here and look at this cat!" The room slowly fills until six or seven Delta employees are peering into Ernie's carrier, smiling and cooing. "Have you ever SEEN a cat this big? And isn't he a sweetie?"
Yesterday didn't go at all well, so today I'm bright and early hard at work, whittling down my giant to-do list. Just now, though, I'm at Sawtooth Bakery, enjoying an inexpensive breakfast, buying bread and having fun peoplewatching.
I'm moving through Powell's big downtown bookstore in a wierdly dreamy, deja vu kinda way, strolling the stacks and digesting the day I've had so far: making art, viewing art, and needing art...or rather needing to get real artistic, real fast, to make sure Ernie Monstrocat has a GOOD home.
The cat rode Jim's shoulder like a mahout, warily eyeing glassland as it crashed around them. I'd thought at first that the work-worn man in the tan leather vest sported a coonskin cap; its lushly banded chestnut and sable tail dangled down his back almost to his waist. Then the cap moved, the man turned...and there was a cat on board.
The Furry Red Menace died this afternoon. Or rather, I approved his euthanasia. And of all the goofy things to think about at such a time, the thing that kept running through my mind was that Rajah hung on until we ran out of cat food. He just wasn't going to leave until he'd gotten every last bite out of life. Or at least out of the pantry.
So I get home tonight and run to check on my venting kiln–it’s the mold moisture release phase of the cycle–and close everything up for the duration. Thanks to traffic jams I’m very, very late, so the kiln is up to 1300F instead of where it should be. The inside ends of the firebricks propping up the kiln lid are [...]