Coffee, tea, or ?

In another life, I was a potter. I taught pottery, working as a teacher's assistant at the Art League, for years, in addition to running the kiln room or glaze team.



Last month, our things from the States arrived, and I am again blessed with beautiful handmade mugs and bowls, vases and urns, other wonders of time and knowledge.


I had to stop when I was about six months pregnant, unable to bend to the wheel without vigorous protest from he who would become the King of Everything. Afterwards, there was little time and less access to the tools I needed. Sometimes I would put my wheel in the back yard on a lovely spring day, the babe toddling around the yard, threatening to swim in the fish pond. But not enough. Never enough.

Then I had to go and move to the desert. No clay, only sand, and I'm not about to declare myself a glass blower. What's a girl to do?

Well, hang out in Sharjah, where art is happening, and meet some people, make some friends, press the point that I'm dying to get back into the studio and teach and create. And patience pays.

There are now whispers of two possibilities, whispers only, the suggestion that perhaps a business proposal is in order, a quiet word that i'm on a very short list of folks to head this fictional program. I'm trying not to get giddy but oh, to get my hands wet again? heaven. I can't wait to get dirty.