Glass Lady #6

I feel as though I’m in orientation for a new job. I’m perched precariously on the tip of the proverbial iceberg, a massive formation of crystal clear glass, be-ribboned with pinks, greens, yellows, reds, ambers, blues and the elusive hues of amethyst and wisteria.

I’m trying to help as many as I can, fitting in readings after hours. I hear my name called out nightly and I wake with hands in prayer position. Jane finally called and I did my first phone reading, spontaneously. We formed an instant connection, as my mind’s eye beheld the Glasbake set of Lipton square mugs. Your cousin died in a freak accident. No one could have predicted it, no one could have prevented it. Such the peace-loving soul, he was burning his draft card in protest when his sleeve caught fire. Engulfed in seconds, no one was prepared for such an event. His had been the coral red mug of the set and it has been in your possession since he passed. He says 'Let it go. Your nightmares will stop if you let it go. Let it go.' He continues to work for peace from the other side, but the intense grief you still feel for him is holding him back. You’ve practically made a shrine of that soup mug. He says 'It’s not necessary. Let it go.' Jane confirmed the events and promised to bury the mug in a simple ceremony.

It used to be all or nothing for me, but that’s changed. I’m not giving up the bookstore; I’m simply finding ways to integrate glassware here and there. A Federal Diana candy dish by the register. A growing collection of Hocking Miss America pieces for the window display featuring the works of glass-torian authors Gene Florence, Hazel Marie Weatherman and Sandra McPhee Stout. And I splurged on the complete Jeannette Cherry Blossom tea set for the Children’s Book Nook, in delicate transparent pink.

I looked around today and noticed that my home has not been immune to my sudden passion. A Silver City Flanders vase sits atop the piano among framed family photos, clear apothecary jar shows off cotton whispers in the powder room. Not for long did my little mystery creamer stand alone on the kitchen shelf. Four other designs followed in short order: Indiana Oleander, McKee dubbed Balloon and Stitch, Fostoria American and the obligatory, ubiquitous Anchor Hocking EAPC. None have a matching sugar bowl, but I care not. I’ve developed an aversion to stout sugar bowls, standing with arms akimbo, refusing to get up off the table, relying on spoon or tongs to disperse their seductive sweetness.

Never again will I neglect God’s beautiful crystal kingdom when seeking answers. I’ve been trying to identify my much-loved creamer for a month now, but to no avail. So this afternoon, I intentionally employed the recent birthday gifts I received. Clasping the chain of the moldavite pendant 'round my neck, gently holding the celestite crystal, I combined use of book and internet once again. Within minutes the captioned photo appeared – a Hazel Atlas Beehive creamer! It has become my totem, my adopted logo. With handle outstretched in a friendly manner, it is a perfect symbol of the widow’s mite. My creamer has little to give, but is willing to give all.

Met Millie again to go through the boxes of glassware stored in her attic. Undaunted, I estimate we’re at about the halfway point. Hauling down one box at a time, she yells "Block Optic!" each and every time we identify a pattern. That ‘chore’ gets easier everyday as I visit and learn so much from the sites of SPGlass, Replacements Ltd, SuzieMax, and FirstClassGlass, among others.

Millie is still trying to pay me back for that tea cup I bought for Laura. I’m still trying to pay her back for opening up a whole new 'old' world.