My Fifteen Minutes of Fame

My Dad, William James Reilly, was the last of his line, and the last male to pass on the Reilly name. I was his youngest child, the fourth daughter, and always felt that I'd like to keep the name going. It's always been a name I've used as part of my "pen" name when writing for a magazine, for the local newspaper, and even when I wrote little stories for the family.
About 10 years ago, I met my husband to be, and wanted to introduce him to my favorite old haunt, Capitola. We took a day trip from the bay area, and I showed him all around the little town, the beach, the picturesque Venetian Court, and  had lunch at the Paradise Grill by the river. We ended up driving past the house on McCormick Ave that used to be owned my my Grandma "Diddo", a place that had so many memories for my family. My family had spent several vacations when I was young, at what I knew as The Greenhouse (it was always painted green, usually by my father while on vacation).
I slowed the car as we went by, pointing out different parts of the property, when a man who was washing his car in the driveway asked if we needed help. After telling him that this used to be my Grandma Reilly's place, he said, "Are you Pat Reilly Romer by any chance?"
Surprised, I said, "yes, sometimes I go by that." It turns out that he had found a copy of a story I wrote about life in Capitola in 1960, called Capitola Days, in the house when he bought it. He delighted me by inviting us in for a tour of the renovated house, and even asked me to autograph the book!
We then went out the back door and I spotted the wonderful Santa Rosa plum tree that was still there producing luscious fruit. He led us through a space in the hedge and we were in front of a little cottage that my Dad had helped to build. He said "just a minute", as he walked up to knock on the door. A woman answered, and he said, "Loren, guess who this is! It's Pat Reilly Romer!"
She opened the screen door and grabbed my hand to shake it, saying, "You mean from Capitola Days?"
I stood dumbfounded, shaking hands with this stranger who knew my name.
To this day, every time we go Capitola, we do all the same things....go to the beach, eat in the same place, and drive by the house recounting the story. I must say, there really is something wonderful about your very own "fifteen minutes of fame."

The Ceramics Teacher

Another one from the archives. Circa 2000.

You might say my ceramics teacher is strict. A studio potter herself, she always gives you the feeling that her pottery class is not for hobbyists. It is very serious and rules should be obeyed. Grades are recorded and attendance is kept. It is a college course after all. But a smile from her and a comment such as "such a sweet pot" is the grade itself.
You see potters all around you, masters, you think, yet trying very hard to perfect their skills. they sit in rapt attention, taking notes and making drawings as their mentor spins balls of clay into fantastic yet functional forms. They shake their heads in wonder as the grey stuff obeys the nuances of her hands.
As she goes through the motions she's repeated so often, beginning and advanced students alike are enthralled by the magic that seems to be happening in front of them. "Use the weight of your body", "keep your wrists down",  and "make your fingers like a paw", she says with just a touch of a Tennessee accent. You'll hear all that when you're ready, perhaps one pearl of wisdom at a time.....maybe after you've made your 20th lopsided bowl or your 40th thick-bottomed cylinder,
You repeat your mistakes and finally decide to do as she suggests and cut through the darned things and you see the problem. The wall of the pot is noticeably thicker at the bottom, thinner at the top. So THAT'S why my 85 year old mother had trouble lifting her beloved coffee cup! Help me, help me to figure this out....to bring the clay up from the bottom!
So you throw and cut and throw and cut with a passion! You have a semester that you think you won't have very much to show for, but you're better, you know it...  There was that time she talked you through a pull and you actually felt the lump ride up the side of the pot. It was like a religious experience. "I feel the lump!",  you cried.
The benefit of being in a class setting, is that right after you figured this out, like a chain reaction, the person next to you, after watching your struggles, follows the same instructions. With the teacher guiding her, she holds her hands in just the right way and feels that, at least for this moment, she's doing something right. The excitement built as we watched the bump of clay climb up the side of her cylinder. The pot grew taller and she carefully finished off the top rim and pulled away gently. The joy on her face was infectious. She looked up at the teacher and the gathered students and said, "I felt it! I felt the lump!"  Somebody in the room said "Hallelujah".    

(This was written about Mary Law, a studio potter in Berkeley, California)

Zen Garden/ Litter Box

This story is from what I'll call "The Archives". It was written in 2000.

I've always wanted a Zen Garden. They are flat, rectangular ceramic pots filled with sand. I've seen rocks, a bonzai plant, shells and little animal figures arranged in them, and then the sand is raked into designs around them with a special miniature rake. It looks so peaceful. My plans for simplicity and serenity in 1999 included  one of these, but I decided against one because I have two cats.
These cats have never seen a litter box, but I figure they would at least find time to dig in the sand. They've been showing their years lately and one of them, (no one has ever been caught in the act), has started peeing in the heater duct. I've been advised repeatedly to get a litter box, but I hate the smell and the litter scattered on the floor. After coming into the house on a cold evening and turning on the heater, the odor made me run for the disinfectant and paper towels. One too many times on my knees deodorizing the vents, and I threw in the towel and purchased a litter box, the new clumping litter, pan liners and a scoop.
I filled it and placed it in my upstairs bathroom. To show one cat how interesting it might be, I closed her in the room with me, knelt down, and encouraged her to join me in digging. She sat by the door with her back to me. I lifted her into the box. She sneezed, jumped out, gave me a dirty look, and shook the litter off her paws all over the floor. I swept it up and decided to give it time.
My next time in the bathroom, as I sat gazing across the room at the box, I thought the litter looked kind of hilly. I didn't remember leaving it like that. Turns out one of the cats had figured out what it was for......Now, how did she know? Is there something in kitty litter that encourages them to use it? Have they been unfaithful to me and gone to someone else's house and used their box? Sure enough, it had clumped and I cleaned it out with the scooper.
Then I felt I should arrange the litter nicely so I could tell the next time the cats used it. I dragged the back of the slotted scooper over the litter and it made indefinite lines,.....not unlike the ridges left in the sand at the edge of a stream....
Perhaps I should invest in a little wooden rake. Maybe not. But still, a small rice paper screen and some incense would make that corner of the room more esthetically pleasing, if not for the cats, for me.