Shot From A Cannon

 

Normally an ant, I've had a bit of a grasshopper summer. It was unusually hot in Maine (and everywhere else, I guess?) and way too many times the river called to me in the sweltering afternoons; either that or a nap in the shady bean house, a kind of living gazebo my husband builds every year. Even the laziest week for me still includes at least 30 hours of work, but less work equals less money sure as autumn follows summer. Property taxes and a recent oil delivery have taxed my meager income to the point that at this posting, I am unable to come up with $5 to get a haircut at the beauty school. 

Nay, nay, don't weep for me! My hair may look like the hind end of a blond yak - if said yak had highlights grown out two inches - but I can't say I regret it: life is short. And now I am back in the studio, renewed and refreshed and working like the Energizer Bunny on some special occasion pots: soup tureens (and matching soup cups - thanks, Rob!), gravy boats, platters, and butterdishes.

My husband, observing my energy, described it as "shot from a cannon." To me it speaks to the necessity of leaving time for relaxation, for fun - even if your job is fun. I love my work - that was the whole point of choosing self-employment - but 60 hour work weeks without letup can burn out even the most enthusiastic self-starter.

Already things are looking up. I unloaded a kiln on Sunday, and I've sold most of it already. As soon as those checks clear, I do believe I'll get a haircut.