Home is Best

Yes, its a potato. Right on top of a heap of russets, it's siren song called to me on the produce aisle. I brought it home, propped it against this pitcher, which brings me to my point: Home.

My first home (away from home) was a minor disaster. I moved four hundred miles north to San Francisco where one neighbor practiced jazz saxaphone very loud, the landlady had a love affair with gin and no one liked my dog. But I did take harpsichord lessons and developed an admiration for Victorian houses that has never lost an inch of ground. I'd walk the hilly streets, sketching, memorizing and admiring. And its where I made my discovery. Home is Best.

Not the fountain of youth exactly but I bet its something we can all agree about. I can see you nodding your head now.

This is a spread from Romantic Homes Magazine, September issue. It's Jen O'Connor's house.

Jen represents some all star folk artists including Julie Arkell, Laurie Messerol and Debbie Thibault.

If you squint you can see one of my rabbit domes in her corner cupboard. What's it say on the front? 'Home'. Jen has an online shop too. http://www.earthangeltoys.com/

Wonderful kitchen, Jen.

A deer whose made a home in the fern wood. A new and larger sconce for casting more reflective light as the days begin to grow shorter.

Now about that potato. I think I'll cut it in thin heart shaped slices and fry them up in olive oil with herbs, and serve with ahi steak and spinich salad. Do you think its a worthy enough homage?

xx

julie
p.s. I abandoned the harsichord lessons for pottery ones.

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

My kingdom for a button

In the warm gloom of the Fox Fullerton Theater, Iris nested down into her plush seat. Her blue dress rustled, throwing off a faint scent of violets. She wore that fragrance tonight, and the snug shirtmaker dress, because they were Roy's favorites. Roy, the pot and pan salesman who'd been her steady for two and a half years. "I want to discuss something with you, Iris dear, after the show tonight. I've got our table at Luigi's reserved." As Iris watched the coming attractions for the new Russell Crowe movie, she pictured their waiter ushering them to their corner table, followed by the chianti being poured, and Roy pulling out a small square box from his pocket. He might even kneel, though his knees would creak from the strain. But his arthritis only endeared him to her.

After all, working at the bakery all these years had given her an extra padding that made it difficult to button her dress tonight. But Roy said snuggling with her was like kissing a cream puff. How tender he was! From the screen a lovely glow filled the theatre and the music began to swell, the night was theirs. Iris took a deep breath and the button right at her bustline popped off and flew off into the dark. Her dreams turned to ash...........

Moral: Don't be caught without a replacement button in your handbag, or you may not get that ring on your finger.
**

Above is a poetry button used to fasten a cuff braclet. See that little green button on the left?

Its wooden, worn, and for some reason its my favorite vintage button.

New buttons, I'm branching out with plans to paint more strawberry buttons,

shank ones with bird portraits and even

shoes. Buttons and shoes seem to go together somehow.

Here's what I pulled from Ruby this morning. Ruby is what I call my kiln.

The buttons took up most of the room.

** Okay, Roy did eventually propose to Iris. But not that night. Iris excused herself right before the movie began, claiming a splitting headache.

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com