Taking the Christmas lights down is one of the primary reasons, I think, for January Grimness. I’ve tried leaving them up way after Christmas, but Christmas lights too long after Christmas are a depressing reminder that there’s no reason for them to be up, and that all of life is a sad sham. And I’ve tried buying other kinds of string-lights intended for non-Christmas use, such as pretty little lantern shapes, but pretty little lantern shapes don’t give me the Christmas light feeling. It is just not time to have the Christmas lights up right now, and I am just going to have to learn how to carry on anyway.

I am feeling especially grim because I’ve been so CHILLY. I am not used to being so chilly. But I’m not ONLY chilly, so I can’t just put on a sweater or I’d be yanking it off again half an hour later and then pulling it on fifteen minutes after that, and you know how staticky that makes your hair. My mom says the same thing happened to her at Around This Age: her temperature-regulator went on the fritz and never really worked again. So I need things that are easy to put on and take off as needed.

The happy thing about being CHILLY for a change is that I LIKE to ADD layers! It is delightful! Until recently my problem has been that I run warm, but I do not like to show a lot of skin, so I am more accustomed to the misery that is (1) wanting to remove layers and (2) absolutely not wanting to remove layers. I hate my summer clothes, which are insufficiently skimpy for coolness yet still too skimpy for emotional comfort.

Anyway, I have been shopping left and right. Right now I am wearing a snuggy sherpa cardigan that is like wearing a teddy-bear pelt. And I bought a micro-fleece cardigan that has thumb-holes in the sleeves—like built-in fingerless gloves. I would like to link to these things because I highly, highly recommend both of them, but unfortunately I bought them on clearance at Old Navy and now they are gone.

I also bought a circle scarf because it was on a pre-Christmas sale for $2, but it makes Paul nervous because he thinks I will somehow accidentally get it caught on something and be strangled, so I have not been wearing it. Besides, scarves don’t seem quite right: they are warm as long as they stay snug, but they gradually loosen until they are brushing annoyingly against my chilly neck. And I feel as if scarves LOOK as if I’m trying to conceal my middle-aged neck, but that they actually highlight it. So.

Listen, do you have any ideas for filling the sad joyless void left by the removal of the Christmas lights? Right now I am trying cheese dips, but it’s not enough.

Listen, where would you go to purchase a shawl? Or would you order one online and hope the material felt nice? I have been unusually chilly this winter and I feel the need of another easy-on/off cozy layer.

I finally have pictures of the results of my pottery class. First, two group shots [edit for clarity: that is, group shots of all the pieces I made during the class]:

 

In the second photo you may have noticed a little…er, issue with one of the pots.

When you take a partly-dry item and put it back on the wheel and use a series of graters/scrapers to smooth and shape it, that is called “trimming.” One potential issue with trimming is that you can trim too much, and cut through the item or make it too thin. I was trimming this item when I noticed what looked like a crack near the base. I picked it up—and the entire bottom fell off. I sent it off to be fired anyway, figuring I could still use it as glazing practice, which I did. Now I’m throwing it out.

Another item bound for the trash:

It’s hard to tell from the photo, but the glaze was too thick and it clumped up. Another issue is that the underside of the pot is lower than the bottom of the pot, which I discovered when I took it off the glazing table and a large swipe of glaze stayed behind. I sent it off to be fired anyway, because I wanted to see what clumpy glaze would look like. (Answer: “clumpy.”) A third issue, as my dad pointed out, is that it’s “kind of an ugly color.” I’d layered two glazes, hoping for a nice spring-leaf green, but no, not quite.

These are my favorites, especially the one on the right and the one on the left (the one in the middle is fine, but it’s earlier than the other two and I didn’t have the lip the way I wanted it; also, I like the color less):

My teacher did not approve of my little rounded bowls, as they are in all ways opposite from the Tall Straight-Sided Cylinder I was supposed to be working on—but making them is what made me happy and excited about the class, instead of discouraged and floppy. I like them, and I liked making them.

This is like a little set:

All three of those, believe it or not, began their lives as attempts to make a Tall Straight-Sided Cylinder. The little flattish bowl was, as you might imagine, a spectacular failure of a cylinder, but that made it an equally spectacular save. My teacher showed me how to stick a needle tool (basically a needle on a handle) into the item while it was spinning, to carve off the collapsed upper half, and then I salvaged the flared bottom half.

These next five are in order, and all were attempts to make a tall straight-sided cylinder. So you can see I am making SOME progress as we go down the line. The first three, when they failed to be cylinders, I trimmed the bottoms to be rounded, and added a foot, so you should look only at the shape/angle/lumpiness of their sides. Those are, left to right: Week 5, Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Week 8.

 

Nothing I have shown you so far was made before my fourth 3-hour class session. That is, the WORST item in the bunch was still made after at LEAST twelve hours of practice on the wheel. In the next picture, the three blue items in the foreground are the things Paul made in his very first class:

But I’m not bitter. No. I’m pleased for him. For him and HIS NEW WIFE THE POTTERY WHEEL, SINCE APPARENTLY THEY GET ALONG SO WELL

Next year, I wonder if one of you could remind me not to schedule any appointments or lunch dates for the week before Christmas? I have one or two appointments/dates every single day this week and I am losing my mind. I realize this is not a sympathetic topic for those of you who work full-time and also handle all this stuff. Let’s talk about TV instead!

On the recommendation of my wine-and-appetizers group, I am watching The Crown. And I pass that recommendation on to you, especially if you liked Downton Abbey, and were excited about Will and Kate getting married, and would like to see the 11th Doctor’s bare derriere.

History is one of my weakest subjects, but historical fiction really helps: I was watching King George VI in The Crown, and suddenly realized he was the same guy as Colin Firth from The King’s Speech! Now I just need to fill in the little 400-or-so-year gap between The King’s Speech and the Philippa Gregory books about Henry VIII.

Watching The Crown reminded me to tell you that I didn’t realize Prince Philip was Prince Charles’s father until I was a full-grown adult—and not, like, just out of college or whatever, but more like…30s? And it’s because he was called the Prince Consort, and I was raised Christian so I thought that was the same as a concubine: all the biblical kings had HEAPS AND HEAPS of concubines, and this was a queen so it made sense that she would have the male version of that, and “consort” sounded male. Concubine, escort, consort. I don’t know who I thought was the father of Queen Elizabeth’s children, but I assumed Prince Philip came into the picture later, when she was all done with her royal heir-producing duties. Prince Philip was independent and difficult and clearly just for fun. It was startling to realize that no, he was the legitimate dad of those kids and married to Queen Elizabeth for SEVENTY YEARS. I hear he still feels resentful about giving up his surname and career just because his spouse’s name and career was considered more important. Huh, yeah, must be really weird to have that expected of you.

Alyson asked me on Twitter about stocking stuffers for kids and husbands, and I was answering right along when I realized I was having a lot of fun, which made me think I should bring it over here. I’m going to basically cut-and-paste, which will be a little dull for those of you who already read it in Twitter format.

When the kids were littler, I kept an eye out all year for clearances in the party-favor aisle: kazoos, little plastic cars, rubber balls, those curled-up blower things, stickers, punch balloons, temporary tattoos, silly glasses/headbands, mini slinkies, mini flashlights, toy tops—really it didn’t matter what the things were, the point was to find lots of trinkets.

I’ve also had good luck with clearances in the toy section, though not as many because toys tend to be bigger. But Rubik’s cubes or similar handheld puzzles, card games, little stuffed animals, and those overpriced packets where you get one surprise tiny Nintendo figure or whatever.

And just kind of clearances all over the store. When the summer stuff cleared out, I’d get them new swim goggles, sidewalk chalk, water balloons. When the fall/Halloween stuff cleared out, I’d get them glow bracelets, new water bottles, new crayons. And so on.

One year there was a good deal on inexpensive electric toothbrushes (like, $5 each), so I bought everyone one of those.

I also put in tons of candy, and some novelty candy like Pop Rocks, Nerd ropes, chocolate in the shape of a dollar bill, chocolate coins, tubes of mini M&Ms, weird flavors of Hershey Kisses. And granola bars, and those cute little single-serve packets of Pringles. I go to the snack aisle and buy those dipper snacks: there are bread sticks or crackers or pretzels to dip in cheese dip, or Oreo sticks to dip in frosting. I get the snack-packs of things like Teddy Grahams and mini Chips Ahoy. Oh, and Pez dispensers, with refills. Lots of the kinds of things that caught their eyes when they were shopping with me.

I get them stuff that I would have just bought them anyway, like new socks or new gloves. Basically if they need something in November or December, and it’s not an immediate need, I get it for the stocking. Or I’ll get them things that are mostly practical but cost a little more because they’re fancy: character underwear, cute socks, fun bandaids.

For Paul, I get candy and snacks. We have a beer store near us, so I get him one single fun expensive beer. Sometimes I get a few of those little tiny bottles of liquor. Last year after Christmas there was a 70%-off clearance on an ice scraper with a built-in mitt, so I got him that and put it aside for this year. I get him an inexpensive kitchen gadget, like a dough docker or a squash scraper. If during the year I hear him cursing because he can’t find his duct tape or tiny screwdrivers or utility knife or hex keys or other inexpensive tool, I’ll get a new one and put it in his stocking. I usually give him a Google Play gift card for his phone.

One year a toothpaste company came out with three weird new flavors, and they had sample sizes available, so I got him those. Sometimes I put in a new toothbrush, even though he could just reach into the bathroom closet and get one out of the box. He mentioned needing a portable toothbrush for work, so I got him a folding one from the travel section. One year I gave him a silly contact lens case.

I generally get him a new Big Ass Brick of Soap, and this year I also got him bar shampoo and an old-fashioned deck of cards, because I needed a few things to get up to the free-shipping deal. And on Black Friday, the ACLU had a $10 t-shirt deal so he’s getting one of those in his stocking, and so am I.

I told Paul this morning that TODAY WAS THE DAY for the calendar post. I went on at some length about how fun it was to do, and why. I wonder if he’s coming down with something, because his eyes had an odd glazed quality.

My only Really Very Important Requirements for a wall calendar is that it have squares to write things in, and good pictures. There are many gorgeous wall calendars that have no room to write appointments (like these—oh I love them), and there are many calendars with tons of writing room that have mediocre pictures (or NO pictures); neither of those will do. Squares to write things. Good pictures.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years we’ve been doing this is that there are many, MANY calendars I love but don’t want for a whole year. I’ll see one of, say, alpacas, and think, “Oh, ALPACAS! I like alpacas!” But—twelve whole months of alpacas? Hm. What I would probably love best of all would be a calendar that was completely different all twelve pages: one French artwork, one ballerina pig, one cool treehouse, one weird chicken, one pop-art, one serene landscape, one modern art, one songbird, and so on. Anyway! We must at least narrow it down!

Succulents calendar. I have been seeing this theme everywhere, including for CUPCAKES, and I am all in.

 

Secret Garden calendar. Peaceful. Pretty. Nicer than the view outside my own window, where we took out a bunch of old shrubs and haven’t put anything else in yet.

 

National Parks calendar. This is put out by the National Park Foundation, so I would like to support this concept. (Here’s another gorgeous one, if you don’t need room to write.) I’m afraid, though, that it would make me angry every month, to see these amazing parks that have been preserved so long and are now in jeopardy.

 

Every Day’s a Holiday calendar. This breaks the rules I JUST FINISHED mentioning: some of the squares have stuff in them, and there’s no main picture. But this is the kind the kids sometimes want.

 

Unlikely Friendships calendar. This is the kind of pure I have been CRAVING this whole past year. Sometimes after another day of baffling news alerts, I just need to see a dog hanging out with a pygmy owl.

 

Berkley Bestiary Animal Portrait calendar. Or a guinea pig dressed for a barbershop quartet.

 

Cow Yoga calendar. Or cows doing yoga.

 

For the Love of Color calendar. No good pictures, but I do love this whole concept of colored squares, and there’s extra room to write. This won’t make my finalist list, but I could see it being perfect for someone else.

 

Farmer’s Market calendar. I had this one a few years ago, and I highly recommend it. Wholesome, soothing, pretty. I liked it so much, Paul tracked down the artist and bought me two large prints, which I have in the kitchen and still like year after year.

 

Chihuly calendar. Blown glass sculptures. Art persists.

 

Posters for Peace and Justice calendar. I like the concept, but I don’t like enough of the pages.

 

Marijuana calendar. Whatever it takes to get through the year. And it comes with a free marijuana-themed key ring, which could double as a festive Christmas ornament.

 

Kilty Pleasures calendar. Like I said: whatever it takes to get through the year.

 

William Morris calendar. This reminds me pleasantly of the wallpaper-themed calendars I’ve had in the past. (The children feel there is nothing blander than appreciating wallpaper, but just wait until they are old enough to care about choosing a shade of white paint.)

 

Stitch the Stars calendar. This is so cool: it comes with glow-in-the-dark thread, and you stitch along each constellation. But it does not have squares for writing down appointments.

 

Daily Dress calendar. Breaks both requirements but I love it anyway; it reminds me of the Love of Color calendar, in that there is no main picture but it is still beautiful to look at. I wonder if I could have something like this by my desk. I hardly ever write anything on that one. Hardly ever. And I could use post-its or something.

 

Shoebox Faux-spirational calendar. I vastly prefer fauxpirational messages to inspirational ones, but I don’t think I’d find each joke funny for a whole month. Like, I smiled at “You Can’t Run From Your Problems — Unless Your Problem Is Slugs,” but would I smile for 30 days in a row?

 

It’s Just Not Your Day calendar. I like this one better. Prettier, for one thing. Sample page: “Swearing Might Help” in fancy writing.

 

Oh, and those remind me of the Mary Engeldark calendar brought to my attention by Doing My Best. You are familiar with Mary Engelbreit, she of the “Life is but a chair of bowlies” and similar cheerful colorful sentiments? This is instead: “When life shuts a door, open it again. It’s a door. That’s how it works” and “People hate the truth. Luckily, the truth doesn’t care.” Nice. This one is a strong candidate this year.

 

Space Cats calendar. This calendar isn’t even trying to make sense, and I think my kids would love it.

 

Sloths calendar. Another candidate for the kids.

 

Fat Cats calendar. Elizabeth had this one last year and loved it. I thought it looked kind of low-budget, but she liked it enough to mention maybe getting it again this year.

 

Cats in Sweaters calendar. Another popular choice here.

 

Paper Source Art Calendar. Ooh. Ooh ooh ooh. This has the LOOK of the calendars I often pine for, the kind that don’t have squares to write in—but it DOES HAVE SQUARES. This is a very strong candidate.

 

William S. Rice Arts and Crafts calendar. I liked this one a whole lot better than I thought I would after seeing only the cover. Peaceful and pretty. Another strong candidate.

 

Passport to the World calendar. Beautiful World Photos calendars never get to first place with me, but I always want to consider them.

 

Simple Landscapes calendar. Beautiful. I love it.

 

Trees calendar. Peaceful, pretty, soothing in a “The world existed before humans, and will probably continue on after they’re gone, as long as they don’t blow the place up on their way out” kind of way.

 

Pusheen the Cat calendar. Highly, highly recommend. This is the calendar that was most enjoyed by the entire family. If I were trying to please them, I would get it every year. But I am not.

 

Banksy calendar. This seems like a nice edgy choice. I can picture the college student liking it.

 

A Primitive Past calendar. Not quite my own style, but I can see the appeal. Style-adjacent.

 

Art Deco fairytales calendar. Style-adjacent.

 

Sea Food calendar. I don’t know if it’s the same artist, but we had some books that looked like this long ago, and a matching calendar for one of the kids’ rooms. Cute and fun. Maybe just a little creepy in a cute/fun way.

 

Pizza calendar. I appreciate the concept, without wanting to try to write on the top half of a calendar. Also, I already think about pizza too much.

 

Hello Kitty calendar. Elizabeth has, sadly for me, outgrown Hello Kitty, which makes it less tempting to buy; it was more fun when she and I BOTH liked Hello Kitty.

 

Pokémon calendar. The fad is finally dying down at my house, but it still has appeal.

 

Masha D’yans calendar. I consider this one seriously every year; this year it looks particularly pretty to me.

 

This Is Us calendar. Oh my gosh! I have recently started watching this! I will say four things about it. (1) I really like this show and all the characters. (2) There is WAY too much “grabbing people and swinging them around and tickling them.” (3) Also too much dramatic monologuing. (4) But I still really, really like it. I don’t want a calendar of it, though.

 

Hamilton calendar. I hear this was a pretty good show too.

 

DK Ultimate Train calendar. This made me feel a little sentimental: we had a set of DK books that I read about a million times to Rob (to the other kids, too, but Rob was the one who was obsessed with them).

 

Bob Ross calendar. Oh, wow, speaking of sentimental. We’ve watched some of his shows with the kids, who always groan when we put an episode on, and then soon after are quiet and mesmerized. I sit there with tears seeping slowly at how kind and gentle he is. And look at the additional images for the calendar: there’s a Bob Ross face at the top of each page, and a Bob Ross quote at the bottom of each one! “You have to have dark in order to show light, just like in life.” *throat clenches*

 

Art of the Heart calendar. I am more willing than during previous administrations to lean toward even somewhat-trite images representing love and acceptance, but I don’t like enough of the pages in this one this year. TWO are of, like, real hearts.

 

Guinea Pigs calendar. I had one of these guinea pig calendars a couple of years ago and it was one of my most successful. Twelve whole months of guinea pigs might not have been sufficient guinea pigs.

 

BTS calendar. All I know is that this group keeps coming up in my Twitter feed.

 

Paint-by-Sticker calendar. I don’t THINK I want to do this in calendar form, even though I’ve really enjoyed the books. But maybe.

 

Cats in Color calendar. I had this one next to my desk this year, and can recommend it. Nice bold appealing pictures.

 

Women in Science calendar. I found this when searching to see if there was a calendar for art by women. There was not, but there was the calendar version of a book that’s on my wish list.

 

********

As always, I would love to hear about your calendar choices, if you still use paper calendars. I am pretty sure I’m going for Masha D’yans for the kitchen, and Bob Ross for next to my desk.

I only need to do ONE thing today, I mean in addition to the usual things like dishes and laundry and meals and child transportation, just ONE extra thing, and that is to clean the bathroom. And not even the whole bathroom but just the sink and toilet and maybe I will dab a paper towel in the corners of the floor and that is IT, no one is asking me to do anything actually difficult. I don’t need to negotiate for a hostage or clean an entire house or stand at a cash register all day, ALL I need to do is clean one sink and one toilet and then I can play Candy Crush with a clear conscience, it is impossible to comprehend the privilege and luxury of my life, so why am I instead sulking at my computer? Gah. I will just write this ONE post and then I will do it. So soon, I will do it. Before you know it, you will glance up and there I’ll be, smelling faintly of lemon 409, proud and a little grossed out, and the bathroom will be about half shiny.

I don’t even have anything to write about, so what if I went and cleaned it NOW and then came back? I even have my radio in there! I could be thinking of what to write while I worked and listened to music! Ug, I don’t want to. And to think that just last night I was bragging about how good I was at making myself do things I don’t want to do, which is a complete and obvious lie: I am TERRIBLE at making myself do things I don’t want to do. Or, let’s think positively: I am strong-willed!

This morning instead of cleaning the bathroom I toasted some pecans, which is one of those things that seemed like way too much fuss to me until I did it the first time, and now I’m like “What is the big deal, you just put them on a baking sheet at 350F for four minutes, stir them, put them back in for another four minutes and then you have TOASTED PECANS.” I also made another batch of the vegetable dish because the oven could be efficiently shared with the pecans, and we still have leftover turkey. Then I planted an amaryllis bulb. Meanwhile the bathroom waits in vain for an equal share of my housewifely attention.

One issue is that we have one of those toilet seats that’s easy to completely remove, for easy cleaning. (It’s this one.) This is such a great feature, so why does it increase the mental burden? Partly it’s that it increases the grossness: now the toilet seat has been in the tub. I don’t really HAVE to remove it, I could just clean it as if it were a regular toilet seat—but the toilet seat and I both know that I could do better. Plus, it’s gross but satisfying to scrub the hinges under hot water.

It’s also discouraging that Paul leaves his nail clippers to rust-stain the countertop instead of lifting his arm slightly higher to put them into the cabinet, and it’s discouraging that a number of years ago William lit cotton balls on fire in the sink and stained it with yellow-brown marks. The sink/counter never looks clean even when it is, and every time I clean it I’m reminded that I’M NOT THE ONE WHO MADE ANY OF THOSE UGLY AND AVOIDABLE AND PERMANENT MARKS. Why DO we live with other people?

Seriously, it doesn’t even take very long. I’m going to do it right now, and I’m going to time how long it takes, and then won’t I feel silly for spending so long avoiding it?

*there is the sound of country music, and someone seems to be attempting to sing along*
*the faint lemony tinge of 409 drifts to your nostrils*
*followed by a rather stronger scent of bleach*
*someone just swore, and there was a sound of a toilet seat landing too hard in the tub*
*there is muttering; it seems to be directed at people who don’t sit to pee*
*oh god oh god oh god okay that part’s done*
*the singing is sounding more cheerful*
*there’s the sound of the trash being emptied, so we must be close now*

Okay, DONE. It took 30 minutes almost exactly. I myself won’t feel clean until my next shower, but the bathroom is looking pretty good. The bowl water is bluish and bleachy, and no one else is home so I will get to be the one to flush it down later after it’s soaked for awhile. The mirror is cracked but shiny. The sink is stained but clean. The toilet seat…well, I won’t say WHO, but apparently SOMEONE let the bleachy spray soak too long, because there are now streaks in the whiteness. But we will not worry about it! It’s fine! It’s absolutely fine!

May I remind you of Christmas earrings, for wearing all month to gradually increase the holiday spirit? I’m so sad and sorry the ones I mentioned in that post, the ones with a Christmas tree on top of a car, never came back into stock; those are the BEST ONES.

I’m wearing these today, and freshly appreciating their subtlety. (I like flashy earrings too, but I like them a little closer to Christmas.) I’m sorry to say they ship from a company called Body Candy, which may give the wrong idea to another adult in your household when the mail comes.

Since the original post, which I am surprised to see was three years ago because it feels as if we were JUST talking about it, I’ve acquired a new pair:

Lunch at the Ritz Jingle Jewels. These are the size I like: kind of smallish to mediumish. One reviewer says she thought they’d be rounded out all the way around like real ornaments, so I will mention that they are flat—or rather, not completely flat, but a flat piece of metal slightly curved. I love that they don’t match. Be prepared for a little bit of sticker shock: they’re not CRAZY expensive, but they were expensive enough that I used birthday money to justify buying them. They go up and down a bit in price; I paid $40 with shipping.

 

I considered these, but I think having faint jingling near my ears all day would drive me crazy.

 

Sienna Sky Cascading Christmas Ornaments. I have these on my wish list this year. One problem with a lot of holiday earrings is that most of them are sold as novelties, six pairs for under $10 or whatever, and then they bother my ears. Sienna Sky is a brand I really like: very light earrings, totally neutral to my ears. But…they’re expensive. So they make good gifts.

Every so often I use my ancient bottle of Charlie perfume, which is the perfume I wore in high school, though this is a less-ancient bottle than that. I do hope I didn’t use multiple sprays of it back then, because it is Quite Strong. Well, if I DID use a lot of it, I was in good company: I am pretty sure I still have other people’s Benetton Colors and Drakkar Noir residue in my nostrils.

This morning I had an academic revelation. It reminds me of the time when, in my early 30s, I suddenly realized that the horizontal line in a fraction MEANS “divided by.” You can SAY IT that way: “1/4” is “1 divided by 4.” Anyway, this morning’s revelation concerns its/it’s and may be as obvious to some of you as the fraction line, but to me it was mind-altering. I have been successfully using its/it’s (though I found a misuse in this very post), but I could not have explained to you WHY—UNTIL NOW.

Here is where my confusion was, before this morning: we say “Swistle’s name,” so why isn’t it correct to say “it’s name”? I know it ISN’T correct, but why?? HERE IS WHY: because “it” is a pronoun, and so it follows PRONOUN rules rather than NOUN rules (“Swistle” is a noun). This is no way to construct a language, but this is what we’ve got.

Here is what we do with possessive NOUNS: we leave the noun the same and we add an apostrophe-S or an apostrophe, depending on the particular noun and its singular/plural status. Possessive nouns: Swistle’s name, the cats’ names, people’s names, the tree’s name, the estate’s name, the babies’ names, the movie’s name. Apostrophes galore!

For possessive PRONOUNS, we don’t do that; instead, we use whole new words. “He” is a pronoun, so we don’t say “he’s name” as we would if “he” were a noun; instead we say “his name.” The possessive for “he” is a whole new word: “his.” “She” is a pronoun, so we don’t say “she’s name” as we would if “she” were a noun; instead we say “her name.” The possessive for “she” is a whole new word: “her.” “They” is a pronoun, so we don’t say “they’s names” as we would if “they” were a noun; instead we say “their names.” The possessive for “they” is a whole new word: “their.” And “it” is a pronoun, so we don’t say “it’s name” as we would if “it” were a noun; instead we say “its name.” The possessive for “it” is a whole new word, “its.” Which is not enough of a whole new word, in my opinion, and is confusingly similar to what we do to make nouns possessive. No wonder people have trouble learning this. It should have been an actual whole new word such as “eir.”

But it’s too late now; we’re stuck with it. The contraction “it’s” sounds the same as the possessive pronoun “its,” and that is just how it is. The contraction “he’s” sounds different from the possessive pronoun “his,” and the contraction “she’s” sounds different from the possessive pronoun “her,” and so everyone understands the difference. We only get muddled by “it’s”/”its,” and frankly we have good reason to be confused. Oh! And we also get muddled by “they’re”/”their,” ALSO for good reason: because THEY SOUND THE SAME, and because the NON-possessive form is the one with the apostrophe! Really, we should pat ourselves on the back if we get it right 50% of the time.

Whooo, thanks for hanging in there on this boring topic. It’s just, I finally have a mnemonic for remembering the it’s/its thing: “its” goes with “his”; “it’s” goes with “he’s.” (I would prefer to remember it with “her”/”she’s,” but the matching S-endings of “its” and “his” is essential for it to click into place in my mind.)

You know what, actually I am not going to wait to write about the pottery class until I have photos for illustration. For one thing, photos basically FORCE you to praise the things I made, and though that would be enjoyable for me, it could be considerably more of a strain for you. For another thing, I now have just enough pottery experience to know that glaze is so pretty it makes every Very Poor pieces look deceptively great, especially in a photo. So I am just going to go ahead and tell you about the class.

To review, first I spontaneously signed up for a wheel-thrown pottery class, and I was surprised at and pleased with myself for having done so. Then I started the class, and after two sessions I didn’t really like it at all and was considering dropping out. Then, after talking to you about it, I changed my strategies and started doing things differently than my teacher wanted me to, and things were going much better, though I was still counting down how many classes were left, and taking Discouragement Breaks in the bathroom. I don’t think I’ve given any updates since.

After one glorious class where the teacher was out of the room and I was doing my own thing and having much happier results, the next session the teacher was back in the room and back to insisting (nicely, gently, quietly, but PERSISTENTLY) that I continue to try to make a straight-sided cylinder. I modified my strategy again: I chose to have some faith in her belief that learning to make a straight-sided cylinder would benefit me in the long run—but, considering the class was half over and there would be no Long Run, I would also work on things I wanted to have as souvenirs when the class was over. I did not want to end the class with nothing more to show for it than a collection of failed straight-sided cylinders. So each day I went in, I worked for awhile on cylinders, and as each one failed I tried to make something else out of it. I continued to feel happy that we were past the halfway point, and continued to think in terms of “Only four classes left!,” “Only three classes left!,” etc. I was unprompt in my arrivals and overprompt in my departures (“Oh, I just reached a breaking point so I cleaned up early”).

On the second-to-last day of class (“This class and then one more and then I’m DONE!”), I learned glazing, which is where you choose what colors to make things. And because I still had things to trim (i.e., partially-dry pieces that needed to be scraped to be thinner and more even), and could only glaze THOSE if they were done BEFORE the last class, I came in the next day for an Open Session: a time when students can come in and work on their projects without the teacher there. I’d never done that before, but I really needed to if I was going to finish everything, so I did.

I can’t quite explain what happened, but on the day I went in for extra work-time, I went home feeling HIGH. My theory is that what did it was learning the last step in the process: now I knew all the basics for taking a 25-pound bag of clay and turning it into glazed finished pieces; and because some of my main anxieties are New Things and Not Knowing How Things Work (like, which cart does this go on when I’m done? and what do I do next? and where are things located when they’ve been fired? and when do I put on the glaze? and then what cart do I put it on?), learning that last step removed a bunch of anxiety. Another part of my theory is that the Must! Finish! adrenaline got mistakenly interpreted by my brain as excitement and enthusiasm. There is also room to question the effects of glaze fumes.

Whatever it was, I started to have a mad, mad, mad idea: Maybe I should sign up for the next session! I recognized this for the crazy near-the-finish-line idea it was. It was relief, that was all: I was having such a surge of relief that the class was almost done, and satisfaction with getting things completed, and sentimental feelings about my nice classmates, and as previously theorized I was mistaking it for excitement and enthusiasm. Also, one of the huge benefits of the class was that it made me appreciate OTHER PEOPLE’S work, so that now perhaps I could take the cost of another session and instead use it to buy some pretty things made by SOMEONE WHO KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING. I could support an artist AND end up with a much nicer-looking item than I could make! Win-win!

But then I kept thinking happily all week about getting back to the studio and glazing the things I’d trimmed. I kept thinking of more ideas I wanted to try. I thought about how neat it would be to be thinking about the glaze options AS I WAS SHAPING THE CLAY, rather than standing stupidly in the glazing room with no idea of what I wanted to do. And how nice it would be, now that I knew all the steps, to stagger things: do some wheel-throwing and then do some trimming and then some glazing, and have things at every stage of the process. And maybe I could come in for more open sessions, now that I was not trying to MINIMIZE the number of hours I spent there. And I had seen a marked difference between my first batch of items and my second batch of items, and I wondered if there would be another jump between the second batch and the third. And I went to a pottery store with my mom and didn’t really want to buy anything because I kind of wanted to keep trying to make all those things myself.

In short, brain-error or no, I WAS IN FACT excited and enthusiastic, and counting days until the next class instead of feeling increasing dread. And then on the last day I glazed my last items and I didn’t want to leave early and I was wishing I could have tried painting on the clay before firing, and anyway long story short is that I signed up for the next session.

I should be writing over at my poor neglected baby-name blog, but instead I want to talk about Christmas mugs and country music.

My ideal number of Christmas mugs is four: two smaller ones, two larger ones. The number of Christmas mugs I in fact own has been creeping up somewhat past that ideal, and then I added that happy squirrel mug this year, so I donated two others I don’t like as much, and left two more in the Christmas box, and just brought up these four.

The one with little drawings all over it was a happy find. My mom and I saw it years ago at Marshalls, and we both immediately loved it. I don’t remember how much it cost, but I remember it was more than I could justify at the time—like $12.99 for a single mug (it’s a Dunoon, which meant nothing to me at the time but now I know it’s an expensive brand), so my mom bought it as a gift for my sister-in-law. Then I pined for the mug for years. Then I put a search on eBay for it, and one day a search result came up, and I bought it. So now I have one and I am happy, and also happy to be mug-twins with my sister-in-law. If you feel any stirrings of pining in yourself, the mug is called “Little Bits of Christmas.” (If instead you are pining for any of the others, I got them all at HomeGoods: the Potter’s Studio squirrel is from this year, the larger Christmas tree mug is Fringe from last year, and the smaller Christmas tree mug is from a Myott pattern I’ve seen at HomeGoods and Marshalls year after year but haven’t yet seen this year.)

 

I have slowly turned from someone who likes a few country-crossover songs and owns one Dixie Chicks album into someone who has put a country station on one of her carefully-hoarded pre-sets. So you still would not call me a super fan at this point, and I still prefer Top 40 and pop-alternative stations, but there has been a definite change. My friend Surely said something long ago about how country music has more love songs for grown-ups—I think at the time I was complaining about how every single pop love song seemed to be about clubs and dancing and bodies rather than, like, LOVE. Anyway, here are a few country songs I like, in case you would be interested in sampling them:

If I Had a Boat, by Lyle Lovett. Country crossover: I first heard it on the alternative rock station.

 

I Could Use a Love Song, by Maren Morris. With country songs more than with pop songs, sometimes I like a song for the lyrics more than for the tune/artist. This one is me feeling moony while listening to my Peter Cetera Pandora station.

 

’80s Mercedes, by Maren Morris. This one is the opposite: the lyrics do nothing for me, but I like the rest of the song.

 

Unforgettable, by Thomas Rhett. Another one where I like the song okay but don’t love it; the real reason I’m including this is that it has shown me the bar pick-up that would work on me: “Then I tried to guess your middle name; for 30 minutes bet we played that game.” Yes. That and a gin-and-tonic gets you your best possible shot.

 

No Such Thing as a Broken Heart, by Old Dominion. I really like this song and also the video is fun to watch.

 

Sippin’ on Fire, by Florida Georgia Line. The first song I liked by them was the crossover remix they did with Nelly: Cruise (I like the original version too, but I love how much fun they all look like they’re having making the remix).

 

Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not, by Thompson Square. I appreciate the way they manage to rhyme “not” with “what”: Are you gonna kiss me or not / Are we gonna do this or wat.

 

Hurricane, by Luke Combs. Sad and I like it.

 

Every Little Thing, by Carly Pearce. Sad and I like it.

 

Games, by Luke Bryan. This is the song where I ran out of things to say about the songs, so now I will just list them.

 

What Ifs, by Kane Brown.

 

Small Town Boy, by Dustin Lynch.

 

In Case You Didn’t Know, by Brett Lynch.