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repo roundup: varmints, clay class, dress code and the os bone

updated sun 6 mar 05

 

primalmommy on sat 5 mar 05


Dannon: back in the 80's I went to Ohio State, and dated a boy in the
agriculture program. When other college kids ran out of money, they
would sell back text books from current classes (and buy beer.). When my
buddy ran low, he'd take a pellet gun out into the campus/urban scape
and come home with his backpack full of squirrels. They cook up nice in
a crock pot with a bag of frozen veg-all.

As for 'possum: there's one around here that's pretty well fed on stolen
eggs (and the occasional chicken) from my hen house. It had babies
somewhere above my studio last spring, and they would climb one by one
down the grape vines, across the window, next to my kick wheel, stopping
on the way to watch me work. They're cute... when they're little.

But when you surprise one in the hen house in the middle of the night,
they give you the big bloody-feathery sharp toothed grin and are just
the ugliest, stinkiest creatures alive. One summer night I woke to the
sound of chicken distress -- one of my hens had chosen to perch on the
garden fence for the night. I leapt out of bed, half conscious, flew out
the slider door of the bedroom, grabbing the first thing I could find --
my husband's carry on bag from a recent trip. I charged across the
suburban back yard in just a t-shirt, found the culprit with his teeth
in my hen, and whacked him with the bag until he did his slow motion
version of fleeing. The hen was alive but injured.

I made it back to bed some time later, and my hubby, deep in sleep,
stirred enough to ask me what was going on. "There was a possum but I
hit him with your suitcase". He got a half smile and said "oh, i'm
dreaming" and drifted off again, convinced that such an absurd thing was
proof that he was not really awake...

When we are all together in person, I will tell the story of being the
folkorist at the Grand Am Coon Hunt Competition in South Carolina, and
how I obtained the os bone of a raccoon (look it up)...

Dress code: You'll find everything from
hey-dude-just-got-back-from-woodstock to potters dressed like corporate
execs. Mostly jeans and "comfort clothes" though. Personally, I welcome
the chance to be free of clay handprints and dirt and muddy fingers, so
I bring some out-on-the-town clothes as well. And of course some of us
clayarters are planning to dress expressively for the friday night
dance, so I hope others will at least find an ugly tie or ridiculous hat
and join the fun.

As for teens in adult classes, Tony, I had a similar problem teaching at
the guild. My adult class is listed as "18 and up" but one mom lobbied
to bring her teen daughter from the children's class so they could
attend together.

She was well behaved and relatively quiet but it changed the whole
chemistry of the thing. The women who take my class are mostly
"repeaters", almost always women, and have come to be friends. We never
realized how often conversation turned to off-color humor, innuendo and
personal "oversharing" until there was a high school kid in our midst
and we had to censor ourselves in mid sentence. We stuck to the age
limit after that.

Ludefisk, eh? And somebody was worried that a BABY might produce
unpleasant odors...

Yours
Kelly in Ohio
gloating over the collection of bisqued mini teapots that Elca mailed,
packed in oatmeal. Jeff was so excited he broght it over to me thursday
while I was teaching, and the kids class was mesmerized. If I could get
them making teeny tinies too, loading the kiln would be a breeze!






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