Consumer News & Warnings
Friday, January 06, 2006
Magic Fingers
Her fingers, the color of weathered mahogany, gripped the old-fashioned razor blade firmly and sliced its target haltingly, in a series of little sawing motions. A small wheel of putty, 1/2 inch thick with a diameter of 1/2 inch, slumped away from the six-inch roll.
She picked up the sawed-off piece immediately and began working it between her fingers. "We only have a few minutes," she said, matter-of-fact, as if nothing about that phrase were causing the swift sequence of efficient motions she now employed.
Her eyes, now bridged with spectacles for the first time in her 49+ years (she appeared to be 15 years younger), focused on the two colors in the putty, now melding into a single shade. "You can feel the heat as the chemical reaction starts. Here, touch," she said. "It has already started the hardening process, but we have a few more minutes to create your piece."
Next, having worked the formerly two-tone putty into a single color, she began shaping the stiffening sludge into an elongated worm-looking thing. A fat worm. "Keep working it, working it, until it approaches the final shape you want," she said. "It's almost there now."
"It" resembled a small canine tooth at this point, something one might find in the mouth of a baby sabre-toothed tiger. She even slightly bent and gave a point to the tip, adding to the similarity.
Now she concentrated on attaching a clasp pin to what would become the "back" side. "You just have to press the clasp in until the putty grips it well," she said. "place the top of the clasp near the very top of the piece, on the opposite end of that little pointy tip."
Next she worked a shish-kebob skewer into the top of the piece, working it around until a hole appeared. "Make your hole wide enough and deep enough to hold a few drops of water," she said. "Then you're set. From here everything you add is for art's sake. And offer up your art to Lillian for good luck. It works."
After it hardened, it was totally waterproof, inside and out, and could now be classified a "poesy" : an old-fashioned name for a two-inch long bud vase a lady might pin to her lapel with a small, fresh flower in it . It would stay fresh all day because it held water.
Beautiful, elegant, useful. And so was the posey.### ¶ Friday, January 06, 2006 0 comments
She picked up the sawed-off piece immediately and began working it between her fingers. "We only have a few minutes," she said, matter-of-fact, as if nothing about that phrase were causing the swift sequence of efficient motions she now employed.
Her eyes, now bridged with spectacles for the first time in her 49+ years (she appeared to be 15 years younger), focused on the two colors in the putty, now melding into a single shade. "You can feel the heat as the chemical reaction starts. Here, touch," she said. "It has already started the hardening process, but we have a few more minutes to create your piece."
Next, having worked the formerly two-tone putty into a single color, she began shaping the stiffening sludge into an elongated worm-looking thing. A fat worm. "Keep working it, working it, until it approaches the final shape you want," she said. "It's almost there now."
"It" resembled a small canine tooth at this point, something one might find in the mouth of a baby sabre-toothed tiger. She even slightly bent and gave a point to the tip, adding to the similarity.
Now she concentrated on attaching a clasp pin to what would become the "back" side. "You just have to press the clasp in until the putty grips it well," she said. "place the top of the clasp near the very top of the piece, on the opposite end of that little pointy tip."
Next she worked a shish-kebob skewer into the top of the piece, working it around until a hole appeared. "Make your hole wide enough and deep enough to hold a few drops of water," she said. "Then you're set. From here everything you add is for art's sake. And offer up your art to Lillian for good luck. It works."
After it hardened, it was totally waterproof, inside and out, and could now be classified a "poesy" : an old-fashioned name for a two-inch long bud vase a lady might pin to her lapel with a small, fresh flower in it . It would stay fresh all day because it held water.
Beautiful, elegant, useful. And so was the posey.### ¶ Friday, January 06, 2006 0 comments
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
A Human Eureka Moment (HEM)
HEMs are rare, but exquisite. I had one recently.
It is not the first HEM I have ever had, nor will it be the last. But oh, it was what it was: A Human "Eureka" Moment, where all of the man-made barriers between two people fall away and what you are left with is the feeling of a powerful connection that transcends logic, explanation, or definition.
It's magic. But, as with all magic, there is sort of a process to it. Here's how it went for me:
Near the end of every year (in that glorious week between Christmas and New Year's Day), I do a lot of writing, looking both back - over the year that's ending, and forward - to the year that's beginning.
Often, I will recognize that certain people came into my life during the past year, and, if I am lucky, will stay there, weaving in and out and enriching both of our lives as we create a tapestry of loving moments.
Today, I got to tell just such a person of this "Eureka!" feeling I had about her just last week, during one of my "looking back" moments of reflection.
First, though, a bit of a disclaimer: This is not the admission of a crush (though I am known to have them), nor of a pedestal measurement for a new friend (she, wisely, doesn't want nor need a pedestal), nor any other kind of narrow-minded or narrowly-focused or -defined feeling of "Eureka!"
This person of whom I write has a full, complete life of her own, without me. She has a life partner with whom she is in love. She has a vocation in which she believes deeply and displays great skill in executing.
She is creative in both large and small ways (and it's the small ways I am most attracted to, actually). She can transform a space that is in your everyday life into a shrine or temple or cathedral of the senses. She has one of those smiles that spiritually lifts you and a hug that does so literally.
She's blessed with one of those rare "angelic" faces with a disposition to match. Oh, I'm sure she has her down and/or devilish moments - as we all do - but she is mostly able to transcend even those and sublimate them into something healing - that's just the way she is built on the inside.
And so, when I experienced a thrilling recognition of the alignment of our two souls, and the excitement that attends such a realization and raised my awareness, I knew I had to tell her.
I know, from experience, that this kind of moment brings me as close to the "feeling" of beauty, eloquence, and grace as I shall ever experience.
###
¶ Wednesday, January 04, 2006 0 comments
It is not the first HEM I have ever had, nor will it be the last. But oh, it was what it was: A Human "Eureka" Moment, where all of the man-made barriers between two people fall away and what you are left with is the feeling of a powerful connection that transcends logic, explanation, or definition.
It's magic. But, as with all magic, there is sort of a process to it. Here's how it went for me:
Near the end of every year (in that glorious week between Christmas and New Year's Day), I do a lot of writing, looking both back - over the year that's ending, and forward - to the year that's beginning.
Often, I will recognize that certain people came into my life during the past year, and, if I am lucky, will stay there, weaving in and out and enriching both of our lives as we create a tapestry of loving moments.
Today, I got to tell just such a person of this "Eureka!" feeling I had about her just last week, during one of my "looking back" moments of reflection.
First, though, a bit of a disclaimer: This is not the admission of a crush (though I am known to have them), nor of a pedestal measurement for a new friend (she, wisely, doesn't want nor need a pedestal), nor any other kind of narrow-minded or narrowly-focused or -defined feeling of "Eureka!"
This person of whom I write has a full, complete life of her own, without me. She has a life partner with whom she is in love. She has a vocation in which she believes deeply and displays great skill in executing.
She is creative in both large and small ways (and it's the small ways I am most attracted to, actually). She can transform a space that is in your everyday life into a shrine or temple or cathedral of the senses. She has one of those smiles that spiritually lifts you and a hug that does so literally.
She's blessed with one of those rare "angelic" faces with a disposition to match. Oh, I'm sure she has her down and/or devilish moments - as we all do - but she is mostly able to transcend even those and sublimate them into something healing - that's just the way she is built on the inside.
And so, when I experienced a thrilling recognition of the alignment of our two souls, and the excitement that attends such a realization and raised my awareness, I knew I had to tell her.
I know, from experience, that this kind of moment brings me as close to the "feeling" of beauty, eloquence, and grace as I shall ever experience.
###
¶ Wednesday, January 04, 2006 0 comments
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Foggy River Blues
Woke up to a classic New Orleans winter gray morning: thick fog on every surface, down to the surface of my mood.
Lingering over a large yellow mug of rich Community Dark Roast (dairied up into a muddy, creamy brew with half-and-half) only intensified the feeling of a slow crawl to start the day - mimicking the arrival of the fog itself only hours before.
I whistle-sipped the hot joe (tips and center of my lips) as I pored over the Picayune's pages for New Year's Eve offerings, and poured more coffee. Arlo Guthrie free at Jackson Square seemed the finest possible option. We dressed and left for the quarter at 1030.
This misted morning turned to early afternoon before the first bursts of sunlight were able to burn all the way through to the streets of the French Quarter. We were then at Angeli's, eating hummus and their specialty - tomato spread - slathered on pita triangles doused with herbed olive oil .
But before that sunbright moment, another moment had been stuck in my mind: the sight of the river all gussied up in her foggier than foggy best.
We'd walked part of the way to the quarter along the second and third levels of the Riverwalk and there she was: The Steamship Sensation, floating in the fog. A breeze kept blowing giant puffs of watery mist alongside the ship, giving it the illusion of movement, and off my imagination flew, on a cruise to somewhere tropical . . .
¶ Sunday, January 01, 2006 0 comments
Lingering over a large yellow mug of rich Community Dark Roast (dairied up into a muddy, creamy brew with half-and-half) only intensified the feeling of a slow crawl to start the day - mimicking the arrival of the fog itself only hours before.
I whistle-sipped the hot joe (tips and center of my lips) as I pored over the Picayune's pages for New Year's Eve offerings, and poured more coffee. Arlo Guthrie free at Jackson Square seemed the finest possible option. We dressed and left for the quarter at 1030.
This misted morning turned to early afternoon before the first bursts of sunlight were able to burn all the way through to the streets of the French Quarter. We were then at Angeli's, eating hummus and their specialty - tomato spread - slathered on pita triangles doused with herbed olive oil .
But before that sunbright moment, another moment had been stuck in my mind: the sight of the river all gussied up in her foggier than foggy best.
We'd walked part of the way to the quarter along the second and third levels of the Riverwalk and there she was: The Steamship Sensation, floating in the fog. A breeze kept blowing giant puffs of watery mist alongside the ship, giving it the illusion of movement, and off my imagination flew, on a cruise to somewhere tropical . . .
¶ Sunday, January 01, 2006 0 comments
