As I was lowering the kiln lid on a firing tonight, which included several "orders" for galleries along with a friend's marvelous sculptures, I noticed that the cord to my kiln had not only melted, but that black smoke has licked up the walls of my studio.
It must have happened durning the last firing and I hadn't even noticed....which is even more frightening considering that all of our worldly/sentimental possessions are still housed in the garage below the studio. The whole structure-- and maybe our house-- could have burned down.
Once, when I was in grad school and writing a story, I used the term "near miss."
Gus was my editor at the time and when he came to that phrase, "near miss," he cried out that it was a ridiculous term.
"What's wrong with it?" I asked.
"This," he said, reaching over slapping my forehead. "Is a near miss!"
Which made me laugh-- and shudder.
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