2011 November Launch

<b>Day 82—22 January 2012
It's the memories that matter.</b>

Some years ago, our family spent countless happy hours at a paint-your-own-pottery studio called Funky Frieda’s. We became friends with the owner (Nancy—not Frieda)—a great gift. When Nancy had to close up shop and go back to “working for The Man,” we mourned the studio where we had had so many great times; but, we continue <i> every day</i> to enjoy the pieces we painted.

Fast forward to 2009. Adam and I tried a new studio nearby, on an afternoon off school. The studio was loud; the clientele wasn’t happy and laid-back; the workers were decidedly not friendly/helpful/cool; and the pottery didn’t last. If you so much as looked sideways at a piece we made that day, it would chip or break. This plate is one of those pieces, and today I’m finally saying goodbye (I haven’t been able to use it for a while). I guess it’s all for the best, in a way—its making was a decidedly <i>un-zen</i> experience.

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Day 82—22 January 2012 It's the memories that matter. Some years ago, our family spent countless happy hours at a paint-your-own-pottery studio called Funky Frieda’s. We became friends with the owner (Nancy—not Frieda)—a great gift. When Nancy had to close up shop and go back to “working for The Man,” we mourned the studio where we had had so many great times; but, we continue every day to enjoy the pieces we painted. Fast forward to 2009. Adam and I tried a new studio nearby, on an afternoon off school. The studio was loud; the clientele wasn’t happy and laid-back; the workers were decidedly not friendly/helpful/cool; and the pottery didn’t last. If you so much as looked sideways at a piece we made that day, it would chip or break. This plate is one of those pieces, and today I’m finally saying goodbye (I haven’t been able to use it for a while). I guess it’s all for the best, in a way—its making was a decidedly un-zen experience.