My wife has a real talent with stained glass. Yesterday, here in town, they held an Art in the Park event, where a number of artists set up booths, and she put out her stained glass frames, which did very well, catching the afternoon light.
A couple friends took turns working the booth with her, so that friends and customers could stop by and have that seamless consumer experience, or simply chat about colored glass.
Afterward, a friend and I came back in our pickup to help her wrap up and put away the glass, and take down the awning. We were going to a Mexican place with a tequila bar to meet a coworker and his wife who were up for good margaritas, and I figured my wife would be in the mood for a margie, too. (She doesn’t drink much, but being “on” for seven hours with her craft on display–and she was busy!–probably had her in the mood.)
I realized that, with the back of our Toyota pickup loaded with folding tables, boxes of wrapped frames, and the dis-assembled awning, it was best to take it home now, so I dropped my friend and her off.
“Just put that box and that box in the garage” she said, considering, “you can leave the rest of it out until we get home.”
Not too likely — the odds are good we could leave stuff in the bed of the truck on the street, but it wasn’t worth taking the chance. I got home, backed the truck up, quickly unloaded while the dogs barked and whined upstairs (it took them a minute to figure out this new tack, before they raced back to the stairs and came dashing through the garage to say hello) and I got back to the Mex place and settled in with a glass of cold Negra Modelo, my favorite Mexican beer.
“Aren’t you impressed with how quickly I unloaded the truck and got back here?” I asked.
“You unloaded? you didn’t have to do that,” my wife said.
“Yup,” I grinned, “I opened the garage door, put down the gate of the truck, put her in reverse, hit the gas then slammed on the brakes, and it all slid right out the back and into the garage, perfect.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” my wife began moaning, and clutched her margarita.
“Whistled for the dogs, closed the garage door, got the dogs in the truck, and here we are, quick as a wink.”
“Did you hear any tinkling noises?” my friend and coworker asked.
“Musical,” I said, “it was positively musical.”
“You’re so mean,” my wife smiled through her pain.
The place was packed, the food was good, and the margies had their own anesthetic effect. Her pieces did very well, in part because they are priced well as gifts. When I see how much time she puts into them I think she should raise her rates, but she does fine and she’s happy.
And I’m happy to help her set up for these events and strike down afterward — but I guess my help comes with a price all its own.
Oh, evil Ben!
I know you’re full of hooey, though. You lifted her pieces as delicately as if they were newborn babies and settled them down with a reverence you really reserve for home brews and Twin games.
It’s true. Like stained glass, you’ve seen right through me. (But I do have my fun getting there, and adding my own color, too.)
I have fond memories of blowing curly glass straws as a child.
I didn’t ever do colour though.
I don’t think this is an inspired comment. It’s getting close to the hour so I guess that’s all you get from me right now. Oh well.
My father was a crafter of stained glass, mostly hanging lamps. My sister and cousin each have one of his creations hanging in their homes. There is a similar Chinese craft with colored glass and lead, but it is mounted on a board. As much as I admire them I’m too cheap to buy one.
Art in the park sounds like an interesting afternoon. I wish I’d been there.
Handward, I’m curious. How does one blow curly glass straws? I mean, heating and bending creates curls — I’m assuming you were doing that while blowing somehow.
Stevo, my wife does lamps, too, but they’re more labor-intensive, so pricier. Most of hers are standing lamps, but she made a hanging one for our livingroom. I’ll bet your sister and cousin enjoy theirs; it’s nice to have a personal reminder of someone at home.
Yep. That’s basically it. You blow through a glass tube while bending it. You have to blow to keep the tube from collapsing. You can even stretch it a bit.
I was quite little when I did that. I was at the age where grown-ups would look at me and think that I’d like a curly glass straw that I’d made myself. That meant there was a fair amount of adult supervision.
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