Into Hell and back for love

I am bright yellow, well with an orange-ish yellow back-side a few green spots here and there for appeal. My maker thinks of my color as an act of kiln magic – where the fires of Hell hit me the hardest. I feel pretty, in a utilitarian kind of way, compared to my life before.

You see, I started life out as silt on the bottom of some creek somewhere, run-off of some field or mountain – just muck. I don’t really know the history of my progenitors, and I don’t really know my chemical make-up (does anyone?). I just know I was a lump of grey slime. My maker thought she saw something special in me, but that I would need some extra love.

My slime…. My maker had a lot of work to do to make me what I am today. She had some help because I actually came to her in a bag with about 25 other brothers and sisters. I needed to be separated from them, and handled with care to become what I am. We started with a good massage. Oh that first massage was a doozy, she shoved me, turned me and shoved me again and again, making sure all of my particles were going in the right direction. She then slapped me in a mound on what could only be described as a merry go round of torture. The thing went so very very fast – almost so quickly that my insides became my outsides. Well actually they did.

Whirling around and around my maker lovingly centered my mass in the center of the wheel so that I wouldn’t wobble around and get quite so dizzy. Then she stuck her fingers down my throat, and tickled my mouth a bit, as she gathered my fluffier sides and started pulling up and out – just a little bit. She then centered me a bit more because – well because I’m a little ill-behaved sometimes. She then continued to pull up my sides a bit. She used a sponge, and what she called a rib to straighten me out and make me pretty. After being cut from the spinning wheel I had to wait for what seemed forever – along with my brothers and sisters (16 of us in all).

Really we only waited one night, but I’m impatient and the room was so damp and dark, it wasn’t so nice to have to wait in there – and it was smelly like old wet gym clothes. I was really glad when my maker came back. She looked at me – all over – I think I was the prettiest. Then she flipped me back on that merry-go-round thingy again – this time on my head!!!! – She used some special tools to make my pretty foot ring – see it here? She likes to write things on the ring – I think it’s her name and my birthday – that way I’ll always remember. When I was shaped just the way she liked me, she gave me an arm. Just one arm, that is all I need. Attached at the shoulder, and at my hip. I’m perfect.

And then get this, my maker throws me in the fires of hell! Well an electronic fire of hell it got to be 1870 degrees in the little room she put me in. OUCH that’s hot! I changed, I became stiff and hard, no longer a slimy lump or something that could become malleable again with a little water. I will forever be this shape – unless I fall or jump off the table (shatter the thought).

When I’m finished and think “ok, I survived that,” my maker takes me out and admires me. I’m perfect I think. My shoulder did not crack, my hand is firmly still attached to my hip. I’m a little drier than I once was, but I’m pretty. I’m so pretty my maker gives me a coat a nice light green coat. It tickles when she dips her paint brush into the glaze, and slather’s it on me, once, twice, and three times. And then she gives me a few special marks – I now feel like a Dalmatian with spots.

AGAIN I go into that hot hot box! This time it’s even hotter…. It’s a sauna, a sweat lodge, let’s face it, it’s HELL at 2118 degrees, or maybe it’s all the way up to 2165 degrees – I can’t tell – all I know is that it’s hot. All of my siblings are in here too. And every one of us has new coats of different colors. Some of us have stripes instead of spots, some of us have gloopy drips from the rims. Me, I’m just happy with my spots, and I’m looking forward – so much – to getting out of this sweltering room.

It's a couple of days later and the box has cooled off. The maker comes back and lifts the lid – she says “OOOH” each time she lifts us out of the box, and places us on a cart. I feel so pretty in my yellow and orange coat the heat of the room made it a different color. I'm so happy.

The maker then cuts a scrap of paper, and a piece of string. Places the string through a small hole in the paper, and attaches it to my shoulder. I can’t really read it but this is what it says:

“I made this mug to give you some warm wishes, hot cocoa, and snuggles of love – I hope you enjoy”

And that’s the best life – my maker gave me to her friend, and I’m treasured, coffee in the morning, tea in the evening, sometimes ice cream at night. I may not be a slimy lump of clay anymore, but my maker showed me some love – knew what she wanted me to be – helped form me and enrobed me in color. Then she gave me to my new best friend.