fast forward several years . . .
daughter moxie and i are visiting the antique extravaganza that comes once a month. i spy this blue thing that i find intriguing, captivating.
i have to have it.
the woman who selling it is cute in that cute-as-a-button sort of way, and french, so i ask if i can call her frenchie, explaining that anything other than english and southern eludes me. flatout eludes me.
“it’s glass,” she tells me, and as as i stand mesmerized, she continues . . . “years ago i was visiting the new england states when i came upon this big blue blob on the ground. my entire body told me i had to have it.”
“i want that,” she told the man as she pointed to the blue blob on the ground.
“that? do you even know what it is?” the man asked in reply.
“no,” she said, “i only know that i want it.”
“what on earth are you planning to do with that, that whatever it is?” asked her husband.
“i don’t know yet,” she said, “i only know that i have to have it.”
“don’t you even want to know what it is?” the man persisted.
“okay, fine,” she said. “tell me what it is.”
“it’s glass. it was supposed to be windows for a big office building, but there were bubbles so they poured it on the ground and went back to make more.”
“so this is flawed glass?” she asked, now even more sure she had to have it. “how much?”
the day came when it arrived on her doorstep. for the briefest moment after the shippers unloaded it, she wondered what on earth she had done, why she hadn’t thought this through a bit more – especially given that, as it turned out, she’d only seen the tiptop of the blue glassberg that clear summer day in new england. this chunk of glass was ginormous, and now it was hers, so without spending another minute thinking about it, she found her biggest hammer and set to work. she had no plan – not even a skeleton of an idea. she just hammered away, and eventually she’d busted the huge chunk of glass into smaller glass chunklets. somewhere along the way she pursued another wild idea and got a blacksmith to build her some stands. then, not knowing that else to do, she rented a booth at the once-a-month antique market, and, well, in less than a year i am buying her last 2 pieces – one for me, one for my boy, slug.
now i promise we’ll tie this all together tomorrow.
or the day after . . .
(p.s. in the picture, that “whiteness” at the bottom of the top glass chunklet is where the molten glass met the earth.)