Tonight I’m off to the Sawdust Festival’s opening night celebrations. This is an artist’s venue a block from my house down Laguna Canyon Road, where they sell everything from jewelry to iron sculpture to ceramics, clothing, paintings, blown glass, even tiny little ceramic and cloth fairies. There’s also music and dancing on the stage by the water wheel. It’s an invitation-only affair and the sawdust-covered grounds are always packed to the
rafters cedar fence.
From ’82 through ’86, my ex and I used to sell our ceramic creations at the Sawdust. Mine consisted of hand-built fish, vases, wall plaques and flowers, while he had his pots, plates, bowls and cups. We made, glazed and fired all this while working full-time. Of course it was only for the summer, but those were eighteen-hour days. We also did the Westwood Festival in Los Angeles during Christmas. It was an exciting and heady time. And exhausting. It about killed us. I hurt my back and his already gimpy shoulder gave out. He continued for a while then gave it up. I began writing.
So these days I head down to the Sawdust to visit friends’ booths, see what’s new, drink some wine, have a delicious gyro at the Greek booth and dance.