botias | (no subject)

Things I might like to do with the clay when it gets here:

Flames for my spray bottle
Loaches
Beads (need UV protection)
Valentines
Collars
Container that molds to my dash.

On impulse we drove up to see the Timberline Lodge yesterday. Built during the Depression as a make-work project, it was full of huge beams, wrought iron and carved detail. There was a three-story stone tower of a chimney up the open center that you could respectably repel blood-thirsty barbarians from, serving six fireplaces that they could spit you in if you failed to carry the day. Nobody could blame us for deciding to have dinner in their very excellent (and blood-thirsty) dining room and then retire to one of their feather beds with dessert and a movie. Instead we were the dumb bunnies with no tire chains, no combs, no clean underwear, trapped there by the descending weather. Life is rarely that kind to my mistakes. My favorite thing about the room? The vague and incongruous smell of hot plastic. I was a child again, poking things I shouldn't into Lite-Brites and Easy-Bake Ovens. Close second was the handy wall o' snow outside the window into which you could stuff your perishables. We were only on the first floor, the snow was about on level with the second. The flickering lights and occasional outage added a pleasant hint of impending doom.