our pottery

Yesterday we drove back out to Hood River to the pottery studio to pick up our freshly fired pieces. They look shiny, but my serving tray looks like the glaze must've bubbled a lot and then the bubbles popped because there are little bumps all over it that weren't there when I painted. Hmmm? We also discovered that we didn't use nearly enough paint. Well, let's say they are lessons learned for the next time. Here they are in all their glory. . .

Phil's mugs. Notice on the one he painted for me that the paint on the polka dot ran and ended up in the shape of a heart. His little masterpiece is Mt. Hood.

And my tray. . . kinda funky, huh? Target and Ross always have such cute little seasonal pottery pieces. Maybe I should just stick with their selection. But this will be special for the obvious sentimental reasons.

We're now on the quest to move. Getting out of the Ghettoville that this apartment complex is turning into. It was really not this bad when we first moved here. It was very reasonably priced for a 3 bedroom, and since we didn't have much time to shop around, we moved in. Apparently all of Vancouver has since heard how reasonably priced it is and they are letting them all move in here. When we went to bed last night, Phil happened to look out the bedroom window and noticed two police cruisers sitting right out in front of our building. They were chatting, but it's not exactly where we'd like to see them chat. We're just really getting annoyed with the neighbors, with the property managers who do nothing about the annoying neighbors, and our lease just happens to be up April 30th, so we've started looking for houses to rent.

Today we explored what I would call a cookie cutter village. It's a development called Summerfield and they rent gobs and gobs of houses that look eerily similar. Even the landscaping is identical. At first I didn't think I'd like it because everything looks the same, well - the houses are painted different colors. But then we began noticing how clean and quiet it was. Now I can't stop thinking of how nice it will be to live in a house again, and have a garage again, and not have to listen to Oksana, our bratty Ukranian neighbor girl, playing Mary Had a Little Lamb on her flutophone all afternoon on the landing at the top of the stairs. Ahhh. . . I'm just imagining. . .

I'm now praying for God to plop the perfect place in our laps. He knows our budget limits, my washer/dryer requirements, our desire to have a back yard again, and all the other little things. And since He already owns a cattle on a thousand hills, I'm sure He'll be in touch.