Tradition!
Dec. 14th, 2016 11:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrIt's become something of a tradition, these last few years--sitting down to write my Christmas letter next to a blazing fire.
Fireplace? No, actually, kiln. The last time I checked, cone 4 had just gone down.
It's the only moment I have free, this time of year, really the first day off since, oh, October. There's pottery to make, you see, galleries to stock. Our first holiday sale happens to be my biggest of the year--Clayfolk, in southern Oregon--and it's the weekend before Thanksgiving. Right now, we've been through three weekends of Holiday Market, with two more to go. That kiln is full of restock we desperately need to see us through to Christmas. Not to mention special orders from about fifteen people, who need them for their Christmas.
It's something I notice more and more as time goes on: how many folks we see year after year, telling us how much people liked last years present, scrutinizing the shelves for this years. Family members coming in together to look, coming back separately to buy gifts for each other. The autistic teen and her mom, who'll come in at least three times before choosing something, partly because she needs to see everything, partly because she doesn't to duplicate something she already has. We've really become part of people's holiday tradition.
It feels good, this web of relationships. I'm not just making a living selling pottery, I'm making a community. I wish there were some way to go back in time, to tell the me of 20 years ago, sitting in the booth on east block of Saturday Market and worrying about making the electric bill, how rewarding it's all turned out.
Fireplace? No, actually, kiln. The last time I checked, cone 4 had just gone down.
It's the only moment I have free, this time of year, really the first day off since, oh, October. There's pottery to make, you see, galleries to stock. Our first holiday sale happens to be my biggest of the year--Clayfolk, in southern Oregon--and it's the weekend before Thanksgiving. Right now, we've been through three weekends of Holiday Market, with two more to go. That kiln is full of restock we desperately need to see us through to Christmas. Not to mention special orders from about fifteen people, who need them for their Christmas.
It's something I notice more and more as time goes on: how many folks we see year after year, telling us how much people liked last years present, scrutinizing the shelves for this years. Family members coming in together to look, coming back separately to buy gifts for each other. The autistic teen and her mom, who'll come in at least three times before choosing something, partly because she needs to see everything, partly because she doesn't to duplicate something she already has. We've really become part of people's holiday tradition.
It feels good, this web of relationships. I'm not just making a living selling pottery, I'm making a community. I wish there were some way to go back in time, to tell the me of 20 years ago, sitting in the booth on east block of Saturday Market and worrying about making the electric bill, how rewarding it's all turned out.