This afternoon, amid wrapping and last minute gift creations, there was a knock at the door. It was the postman. I wish that he would always knock and not just leave it in the box. I loved answering the door and watch him shuffle through packages and letters, handing me ours with a smile and "Merry Christmas!"
In that bundle there was a package for me, wrapped in a familiar brown paper with a familiar U-S-A written across the front. I got a package from Spain!
Seth, my wonderful British potter, mentor, and friend, dashed off a letter and package for me just in time for Christmas! I can't believe its been two year since I've seen him, since I lived and studied in that little stone Masia on top of a mountain, next to a dry white stoned river bed.
He wrote on thin beautiful paper with that handwriting I know and love, telling of studio cleanings and friendly visits. He found an old pot of mine that I left behind. I left many pots behind since they all had to fit in my suitcases. A little syrup pitcher was stuffed in the package, with crawling glaze and Seth-esque blue lettering. Suddenly I had memories of sitting on my motorcycle-like wheel seat, bent over with brush in hand and cobalt oxide stain glopped in an old bowl, carefully lettering within Seth's rules.
Oh how I miss him and his studio and that house and that bumpy road and my mountain! Merry Christmas, Seth! Merry Christmas readers!
