We Call It the Dungeon (Bill) –

I know that there’s a dragon living under those stairs – I just haven’t seen it yet.

The place they lead to is perfect for ceramics (other than the fact that it has no running water). It has surprisingly good acoustics which is important given that the music is on all the time.

The last time we had a tornado warning we both waited it out down there – I worked on some clay pieces while Beth paced around wondering if we would end up in Oz.

What It Was (Beth) –

There’s a story. There’s always a story. How the room where I now make things was once an office with an extra bed. Then an office with an extra couch. Then a room we emptied of everything else, including the ten-ton radiators that clung to their station with a terrible rigor. (Bill, again.) Emptied so that we might install two tall tables (one narrow, one wide) and a chest of drawers (narrow and long).

Every surface is taken now. Every inch of that room knows its purpose, which scares me, for what if I want to someday make a new kind of art, or think a new kind of thought? What if I outgrow the room, or will the room constrain me?

Here’s what I know. This is a fact. There are only two bedrooms in this house now, and one of them is Bill’s office when our son isn’t home. We invite people for dinner, but there’s no room for guests to stay. Maybe this was on purpose. May it was just an accident.

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