Wednesday, June 27, 2007

. . . and the only difference would be the purple hat : )

Oh, truly, I am going somewhere with this , it's just that there are sooooo many possible directions and soooooooo many opportunities to pay my father back for some of his funny verbal jabs. Hmmmmmmmm, what to do, what to do. . .

Okay, first of all, that's my daughter in the purple hat, and that's my dad without a purple hat. If he took off the glasses, the hat or lack thereof would be about the only way to tell these two apart. James may have Granddaddy's name for a middle name, but Katie has the Granddaddy mirror to look in and see her face down the road. Katie has looked like my dad since she was a baby. After her personality started emerging, it became apparent that she looks like Granddaddy but acts an awful lot like his late brother Major. Uh-uh, "Major" was not his real name. Uh-huh, he got that nickname for being bossy. He was also the prankster extraordinaire in the family, the sh--stirrer supreme (and I mean that in the sense that he was the one always "up to something" or planning to tie your shoelaces together when you weren't looking, etc.). Hence, my devilish daughter's appellation: Little Miss Looks Like Stanley, Acts Like Major.

So, if you ever visit here to read my blog, you know you might get beads-beads-beads or you might get family stories or you might get off the wall artsy musings-- you just never know, do ya? Well, the pic of Katie and Pop would be your daily dose of family. I'm still thinking about the whole beads and artsy musings. I just can't lay my finger on the quandary brewing in my mind, but there is one brewing. Actually, you know me, I do know what it is, I'm just thinking about the way to describe it and talk about it.
Here it is. Not really anything new, but it's been bothering me again lately, just in a new incarnation. Now that I have an oxygen tank to use instead of the sucky concentrator, I feel compelled to make bigger and bigger things so that I can turn them into display pieces. When I manage to distill some real emotion into the glass, the result is usually art. . .it really is, because it evokes emotions and responses. These are the things that make me happiest and give me the most satisfaction, even though they are almost never perfect and are almost always crudely crafted because my skills can't keep up with my imagination. I am always, always, always talking about the difference it makes in your work when you are doing what you love. . . so why am I having a problem, why am I worrying about "wasting" oxygen by experimenting at the torch?
Hmmm. . . can you hear all the wheels turning and grinding against each other?

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