Fat bear week

Got a commission for a big oval platter, featuring my salmon-fishing black bear pattern. I made two of them for the last firing, and they both came out pretty well, though one has a small glaze flaw, and the other is really fat. (Not that I'm body-shaming the bear but--well, see for yourself.) Just sent pictures of both to the customer. Which do you think she'll choose?

The edge of night

A couple of years back, my friend lydamorehouse blogged about attending the Little Mekong Night Market in St. Paul. It sounded like great fun: music, food, crafts and street life, held after the hottest part of the day had passed.

This summer, Saturday Market is trying it in Eugene.

They're calling it a Twilight Market; hours 6 pm to 9 pm following the 4 pm close of the regular Saturday Market. There will be four, one per month June through September. Daytime vendors can pack up and leave at four, or for a nominal fee, they can keep their booth up for the evening. Other folks come in at five to set up in pre-assigned spaces. There'll be food, of course. Also, the first music (a DJ, but it's a start) we've had since Holiday Market of 2019.

Because we're still on alternating booth schedules, there will be two odd-booth nights, two even. As it happens, June 19 is an odd-booth Saturday. It also coincides with the Olympic Trials at Hayward Field, so we're hoping for some spill-over from that.

I hadn't actually been that excited about participating, but felt obligated, if for no other reason, because I can't possibly pack out my entire booth in one hour--my best solo load-out to date has been 1 hour 23 minutes.

On the other hand, I was concerned about packing up after sunset; I had two less-than-fun experiences last November, not being able to see what I was trying to wrap and box. (The second time, I wore a headlamp, but that's still not great.)

However, I've got a deep cycle battery and inverter, from the year Clayfolk didn't have booth power. I have a ten-foot black extension cord. I have a light bar and LED can lights, but they're the sort of thing I reserve for sales like Holiday Market, where I can set them once and leave them for the season. Instead, I went down to BiMart and bought another four-foot LED shop light, on sale for under $20. Set the whole system up for a test run last night, and it worked well, so I'll plan on turning on the light around 8 pm and running it until I pack out.

I'll definitely treat myself to a hot supper, and see how things shake out.

Explosive

Have I mentioned lately that I'm really tired of doing repairs?

Making supper Saturday night. Nothing fancy, soft tacos with beans and ground turkey, lettuce, tomato, cheese. Sour cream and salsa for condiments. I hate guacamole.

I was just rinsing the can from the refritos, when the sink exploded.

I've posted about this thing before, a single-handle antique with a long history of dripping, stripping the handle screws, etc. It's been remarkably well-behaved for a year know, biding its time.

What seems to have happened is, the screw-down cap ring, which holds the ball valve and top gasket to the body of the faucet decided to crack like an egg. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, it was a recycled piece from BRING, but when there's a massive fountain of water spraying the curtains, cabinet and counter top, surprise is sort of a given.

I pulled all the cleaning supplies out from under the sink, turned off the cold water shut-off. The hot, however, was missing its handle. Don't see it anywhere, water still gushing. I go get the vise grips, try to twist it closed, but there's very little clearance between the trap and the dishwasher hoses. Finally occurs to me to take a squared baking dish (required Off Center Ceramics content) out of the dish drainer and invert it over the fountain, to direct all the water back into the sink, so I can panic a little less as I wrestle with the shut-off. I get it about 7/8 closed, but it won't go any further, so I finally go turn off the supply line to the water heater, and throw the breaker.

It's 7:10 pm. BiMart, my closest hardware store, is closed, as is BRING. Jerry's Home Improvement, out on Highway 99, is open till 8. I mop my self off a little, grab my wallet and the handle-valve-cracked ring assembly and dash for the car. (Where there's already a mask waiting.)

At Jerry's, I join another woman with a plumbing problem, talking to an employee. It's not his department, and the one plumbing guy we see is already with a customer, so he phones up a manager to meet us at the desk. Two minutes later, Aldo arrives, takes one look at my dead soldier, and leads me down aisle 11 to the place where, way down at the bottom of a wall of sinks parts, he finds the exact, shiny new lockdown ring I need, for under 12 bucks. Then he takes the other lady in tow to solve her problem as well.

Ten minutes after I get home, the faucet is back together and I can finish making supper. I'll still have to replace the hot water shut-off at some point, but at least it's not an emergency.

I love Jerry's.

Kathy Lee

I first met Kathy Lee at the UO Craft Center. I was just out of grad school, teaching beginning pottery, hand-building and sculpture, raku, and primitive/pit firing. She'd been making pots for a while at that point, having started taking lessons when her late minister-husband Clarence was doing research in Denmark. She continued in Minnesota afterwards, and came to the Craft Center when she moved to Eugene to be close to her daughters after his death.

She took some classes from me, raku and primitive firing, but wasn't really my student. We were more colleagues, trading tips and tricks, sharing techniques. We were also friends. Former midwesterners bonding over our love for Minnesota pottery.

She left the Craft Center before I did; she'd started selling at Saturday Market, sharing a booth with another senior potter, so needed a different studio. (The Craft Center was a hobby/enrichment shop; only the Resident Potters were allowed to sell their work.) She moved to Club Mud.

About a year after, my production job with Slippery Bank disappeared, and left me needing to start supporting us with my own pots. Fortuitously, Kathy's booth partner decided to retire from Market, so she invited me to share her booth. We shared good weekends and horrible ones for a couple years, at the end of which, she left the Market and deeded me the booth structure.

I joined her at Club Mud in 1998, where she continued to make quiet, beautiful pots for many years, selling them at home sales and the occasional gallery. Eventually, hand tremors made it impossible for her to continue working, but she continued as our second permanent emeritus member.

In 2019, she said she had some good news: Stanford University had been pioneering a form of brain surgery that would stop the tremor, although only on one side, and Medicare had approved her for the operation. We talked excitedly about researching one-handed throwing techniques, about her being able to work in clay again.

And then the pandemic happened. I didn't hear whether she'd gotten the operation, whether it helped. I was making plans to reconnect this spring, after I'd been vaccinated, when I learned from a friend at her church that she was in hospice care, with an aggressive brain tumor. She couldn't have visitors, but her daughters were reading her letters in her lucid moments, so I sent her a note, telling her how much I've loved and treasured her all these years.

Her daughter Kari called today, to tell me she'd died quietly last Wednesday. There'll be a service Saturday at her church; it's a Market day, of course, but Denise has promised to cover so I can go.

My kitchen is full of her small, perfect pots. One of them is now my salt cellar; I sprinkle a blessing from her on everything I cook.