Out with the Old

The kiln yard is finally clear of the rusting steel shell of the old kiln. Two nice men, one of whom looked like the Incredible Hulk, the other like sunshine-fresh Mr. Clean, carried it off yesterday free of charge. The kiln yard looks, if not clean, at least spacious: gone is the maze of rusty hulks to negotiate while carrying boards or buckets. As I understand it, Misters Clean and Hulk will sell the scrap steel, and everybody's happy.

The worst pots from the last firing, way too many of them, I've smashed with a hammer. There were many seconds: bowls with kiln kisses resembling wads of spittle in the middle; a casserole that looks perfect until you turn it to see a crawl spot the size of a dollar bill; mugs that have (now ground) kiln drippings right on the lip. These I've tagged to sell when I put out the front-yard shelves again: if you live in Augusta, stop by. There will be a lot of offerings this week.
I compared the last firing to a bad kiss; and (as a commenter pointed out) like kissing, a bad one won't stop us, because  the good ones are so very good. The keepers are priced and sorted, and I have nearly enough ware for a bisque already.

So I'll have an Altoid, apply a bit of lipstick - not too much! - and pucker up again. I have a pretty good hit rate for toads-to-princes, so I am undaunted.