Christmas 1988

This is a Christmas ornament from 1988 picturing yours truly, which is currently hanging on our Christmas tree. "You grew into your glasses," Robert observed. So true. The '80s were not really a great time in eye wear. In other news: I think I might get those bangs again. They're super cute.

Mountain moon

I woke up this morning at my parents' house in the mountains, and the full moon was gorgeous and the sun was rising. "That is so so so beautiful," I thought. "I should take a picture." But before I went to sleep, I had given my mother my phone (the only camera I had with me) and she was playing Fruit Ninja, which is a pretty amazing game. So I assumed the battery was dead. And wasn't just seeing it in the present enough? Yes. It was.

But I found my phone, charged it really quickly and took the pictures anyway because eegads that's beautiful.

Wonderland

I am in love with "Wonderland" by Dene Scott Smith, an artist who lives in Denver, N.C. This was at the Festival of Trees in Lincolnton, and I was just so enchanted with it. The above photo (ie: the amazingly gorgeous photo) was taken by Robert.

Breakfast

This is a ridiculously healthy breakfast that I can't get enough of: vanilla Greek yogurt, dry oats and a cut-up granny smith apple. I am incredibly healthy 50 percent of the time and incredibly unhealthy 50 percent of the time resulting in rather average health. This breakfast was one of my healthy ventures, but I tell you, it pleases both the health freak and the hedonist in me. Deee-licious!

Small town Christmas parade

Today, Robert came home from work and immediately said we should walk downtown because Main Street was closed and clearly something was up. 

Look, Robert! It's a parade! I LOVE parades!

Christmas time is here!

Nothing says Christmas like Shriners in kilts. Am I right or am I right? 

Can we discuss the spats? Since when did ROTC students wear spats? If this had been going on when I was in high school, you can bet I would have been up in that club.

Look out behind you! There are uni-cyclists! And kilted Shriners! And spats!

The very best part of any parade or high school sporting event: The marching band. Notably the drum section. Nothing is better. Except for maybe those kooky feathered hats. And spats. Spats are better. But that's it.

A potter perhaps?

Face jug by Luke Heafner in downtown Lincolnton, North Carolina

In 2008, I did a series for the newspaper I was working for on Catawba Valley potters. Now, I'm doing a big web-based project on Catawba Valley potters (and using my old articles as references, which seems kind of obnoxious, but very handy), and I can't help but notice all the Catawba Valley potters are men.

Now, this makes sense in that making pottery in the Catawba Valley tradition is a terribly manly thing to do. These potters make pottery the way people did in the 1800s. As in: Dig your own clay, grind it up using a mule (okay, maybe not everyone is still using mules), make a glass/ash glaze, turn it on a foot-powered wheel, throw it in the groundhog kiln you built yourself and then fire it up to 2,000 degrees.

So I've been writing about all these rugged, clay-digging dudes and the crazy pieces they are producing, and I thought to myself "Why don't I become a Catawba Valley potter?" And then I thought "Because I don't like digging clay or building kilns or creating giant 2,000-degree fires." And then I thought "But we need a woman to do this! I'd be filling a niche! And I could totally market the hell out of myself. And I'm creative even if I'm not very crafty."

If I'm being honest with myself, I have to accept being a Catawba Valley potter is probably not going to happen. It's not because a woman can't do it. It's because this woman doesn't really feel like doing it. That said, there has to be someone out there just itching to get started. Some woman. All the Catawba Valley potters I've met have been fabulous (and by fabulous I mean often gruff and grouchy and yet charming in their gruff grouchiness). They're doing their part, holding down the tradition but breaking the rules too (a gas mask face jug, Michael Ball? Terribly interesting.) I just hope the next time I do some giant project related to Catawba Valley pottery (because I feel the third time will be the charm) there is a woman to write about along with all these manly man.

Catawba Valley Pottery

I am doing a big project on Catawba Valley Pottery for school so I took a few pictures of the few pieces I have. They're all by Luke Heafner because I know him and I like his pots. 

This one time, I told Luke I liked his studio and he said "Does this look like a studio? It's a shop."

This other time, I mentioned that Luke was an artist and he said "I'm not an artist. I'm a craftsman." 

Luke is a curmudgeon. But I like him. And my close friend Allyson likes him too. A lot. 

The picture at the top is the very first piece of Catawba Valley Pottery I ever bought. The above picture, is where I usually keep my jugs -- on a bookshelf all front and center like. To be honest, they look much more at home outside, but Allyson has kept pieces outside before and they have a tendency to get snatched up by thieving Catawba Valley Pottery enthusiasts (or just troublesome hoodlums). 

Look! It's a turtle! Adorable. This was last year's Valentine's Day present from Robert and me to each other.

Catawba Valley Pottery has a long and storied history in this area. Back in the day, the pots were made to be used. They're still absolutely useable, but I'm not putting moonshine in this guy. He's too fabulous. He was made out of dug-up, red, North Carolinian clay. The glaze was equally natural. He was burned in a groundhog kiln. He is an old-school all the way.