An Irish whistle that sounds beautifully haunting when an Irishman plays it and a bit like a dying bird when I play it.
One of the only mildly successful wheel thrown objects from last semester (it's lopsided, but you didn't hear that from me). My mom claimed and painted it.
Our church had a Swap Shop on Saturday: bring your old "treasures" and swap them for someone else's old "treasures". My mom got this great hat box.
In other news, Winston Randall IV came out of the kiln this morning and he's doing great. Sniff. He's all grown up and moving on to glazing.Post Script: Something in my house smells like a hot eraser. You know the kind that has just erased something violently? I think it's my dinner. I love that smell. Erasers, newly sharpened pencils, crayons, glue...sigh. Childhood.
No comments:
Post a Comment