MILD BROWN

As every year I attended the Palo Alto Clay and Glass festival (two days on a weekend in July). Over a hundred artists, but only three that I patronized. The old gentleman who does Sung or Korean powder blues and celadons wasn't there, neither was the pot smoking Jewish hippie lady with an excellent eye. Still. Got items.

She also got things. She had been the one driving. It was probably good for her, I hope, as her relatives obdurate idiocy dealing with her brother's recent death -- a sheer inability to use their brains and get things done -- has, in this period before the funeral, constantly slammed home the loss. No, they aren't dealing with it well either. But she's had to make funeral arrangements. Coffin. Service. The Chinese graveyard. Notifying people in his circle. Coordination of things.

It's been rather trying. Note to the wise: make sure someone not too close to yourself is in charge of your funeral. Because adding that onto a loss is emotionally wrecking.

Unfortunately the only people I know who would happy to take care of my funeral are assholes whom I wouldn't want any where near it.


On a much cheerier note, I am delighted with a new bowl.

Made by one of my favourite potters, whose splendid stuff has pleased me for years. I also bought one of his cups for her, even though she said she wanted me not to buy her anything as she already had too much ceramic stuff, but I know that she'll use it, so it won't clutter up her quarters.

The title of this post is taken from a tin of tobacco I acquired the other day: Ferndown Mild Brown. A softer Virginia compound that hasn't been available for a decade, lightly topped with molasses. I remember it as an easy smoke, on the sweeter side because of the addition, but not overtly sugary. The complexity it evinced years ago must have faded a bit, but age will make it smoother and more mellow. Perhaps I'll open the tin next week on a day off.

I remember it as great with a hot beverage.
Perfect if it's a bit cold outside.
Early morning fog.



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