Yesterday I embarked on a new and exciting adventure. Okay, Actually the adventure started around a month or so ago when my good friend Jessica suggested that a bout of weekend boredom could be easily alleviated by signing up for a glass blowing class she had discovered on line. I should have learned by now that Jessica's ideas are generally either violent, or dangerous (she's really into jui jitsu and is therefore classified as legally insane), but I was bored so I went along with it. We showed up on Saturday morning for the $30 Introduction to Glassblowing class at an establishment called Hot Shops. I have since discovered that it's name is quite accurate and delivers on the "Hot" part in spades. It's a fairly amazing building in the old warehouse district, filled with three floors of artists of every imaginable ilk. There's glass blowing, welding, blacksmithing, woodworking, jewelry making, painting, and something with knives that I'm a little afraid to ask about. It is essentially, an artists coop and it made my little suburban heart flutter wildly to be doing anything quite so Bohemian. The class was two hours and we made our own paperweight and a lovely flower (with a certain amount of help from the instructor).
Jessica and I declared the class a resounding success and I left with a flyer proclaiming that there was a far more adventurous and FAR more expensive three day, all weekend class, in which we would unearth all of the secrets and delights of glass blowing and would leave having made any number of artistic and bohemian art glass pieces. Upon my arrival back home, I extolled the virtues of the class to my loving husband, Derek, and in a studied and carefully casual voice mentioned the three day class...you know...just in passing...
Truth be told I really did just mention it casually, because as interesting as it sounded, it was $350.00 and I wasn't about to ask Derek to shell out that kind of money on a midlife whim. The moment passed, the weeks wore on and I took every opportunity to show anyone and everyone my handmade glass treasures.
Then, a few weeks ago, in an unprecidentedly vicious attack, my 48th birthday snuck up from behind and pounced.
I have relatively low expectations for birthdays. I don't do birthday parties. As for Derek, some years he remembers my birthday and some years, not so much. As regards my children, as far as they are concerned I have been old since the beginning of time and will simply continue to be old forever, so birthdays aren't particularly relevant. This being the case, I was quite content to just forget that the grave was looming in a little closer than before. Imagine my surprise when my sister, Jeannie, my son Colt, and Derek presented me with a blue legal sized envelope and declared that I should have a happy birthday!
My jaw dropped lower than my double chins as I read the certificate inside, stating that I was the recipient of a gift certificate good for the very same glass blowing class that I had previously resigned myself to NOT taking. The story unfolded that Derek, in a blinding flash of inventive ingenuity and love, had contacted our family via e-mail and stated his intentions to purchase the class for me. He apparently indicated that he was putting every ones name on the certificate and if anyone wanted to pitch in, they could! There I sat near tears at the thought of my sweet family putting together such a stupendous gift! Derek wins the game! Forever!!!
A few days later, I had a class date of September 4th, 5th, and 6th on my calender. Yesterday was the 4th.
I showed up at 6pm for day 1 of the three day class. It was to run 6-9 pm. I'm not sure whether we had been drugged or hypnotized at the introductory class, but in my mind's eye, I remember it being much more pleasant and much easier and I definitely don't remember it being so hot! It might have something to do with the fact that they were helping us along every step or the way, or possibly because there were 10 of us taking a two hours class, but my earlier foray into glass blowing did NOT prepare me for yesterday evening!
The class was hot, sweaty, frustrating, intimidating, difficult, and DANGEROUS! Or so it felt...initially. The first mistake I made was in forgetting that I am left handed and therefore, handicapped and backward. In my eagerness to master the art of glass blowing, I armed myself with my 4 ft metal rod and pressed down on the foot lever at the base of the glass forge. As the doors flew open to reveal the deepest depths of hell, I was quickly reminded why they call it Molten Glass. It is because in many ways, it resembles Molten Lava. Inside the forge was a vat of 2100 degrees molten glass glowing a brilliant orange. As I nervously stuck my rod into the glass for my first gather, I could feel the hairs on my arm curling away in protest and the heat was so intense I nearly dropped my rod. I pulled my rod out of the liquid glass and jerked my foot off the lever to cut myself off from the offending heat. My mind spun frantically. How do I get out of this!? Derek was going to be so disappointed that I wasted $350 running out of the building wailing like a sissy.
The instructor came to my rescue. It seemed that I was once again being punished for being left handed. I cursed my Kindergarten teacher for not trying harder to convert me to right handedism. Apparently not only are you not supposed to stand directly in front of the two thousand degree flaming forge, you are supposed to hold the rod to your right, while you cower in safety to the left of the doors, safely out of range of Satan's wrath.
Once I knew how to work around the forge without melting into a middle aged heap of Leni goo, things improved. Or so I thought. What was Derek thinking sending an ADD woman who gets distracted by every shiny thing she sees into a room full of glowing and irrefutably shiny glass!? I had successfully completed a practice exercise on a small glob of glass and was heading to the work bench when the shiny, glistening orange glow of a classmates gather caught my eye for an instant. As I gave her a verbal pat on the back for her excellent marvering technique, I moved my right hand to my rod to swing the end over to the bench. Only I didn't look down first and I apparently grasped the rod higher than anticipated. It is a scientific fact that if you put molten glass on a metal rod, the rod WILL get hot. Not all the way down, but definitely down far enough to be scalding hot where I stuck my hand. In an instant, the rod hit the floor, the glass shattered into pieces, and my hand shot into the bucket of water placed strategically for just that very purpose. Apparently, I am NOT the first person to burn herself on a metal rod while working with molten glass, though it was little comfort right then. BUT I am a grown woman! NOT a silly girl and I had on my big girl pants, so I sucked it up, smiled and pretended I was perfectly fine. Inside my mind was singing a chorus of "I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry"...while outside I was saying "No, really...I'm good". I spent every possible moment with my hand in a glass of water for the remainder of the evening, but I'm proud to say that I didn't cry and I still completed a couple of lovely (well one lovely and one with...character) paperweights and a flower.
By the end of the class, my fingers were throbbing, I was hotter and sweatier than I had been since leaving the Philippines and I was physically and mentally exhausted. As I drove home, I realized that I couldn't wait to get back for day 2 of the adventure.
No comments:
Post a Comment