Glass Lady Entry #3

Oliver was glad to get the extra hours. I’ve taken to calling him Mr. Reliable - I originally hired him to design the website and he’s worked at the store ever since.

Drove to Treasure Trove first thing, my first time there. Met two sisiters, Jane and Nancy, while waiting in the parking lot for the doors to open. Regulars, they took me straight to the second floor, offering me a whirlwind tour from top to bottom. It smelled like my favorite Cinnamon Splendor tea up there and I wondered aloud if any was brewing. Then Jane practically shrieked when she saw it – a primitive Pyrex glass measure mixing bowl. To me it looked pretty well battered -ha! But they held it up to the light of the floor-to-ceiling east window and deemed it worthy. When they handed the bowl to me, there was the warm cinnamon smell again, even more fragrant. At the same time, I also heard, actually heard the name Mary Bess. I tried to stifle my embarrassment, even while I could not stifle the words. “Do either of you two know a Mary Bess?” Yes, they said, she was their Mom! She had used that exact style of mixing bowl when teaching her groups of 4-H kids. She took pride in the fact that every one of the youngsters could make perfect cinnamon rolls before county fair time came around. She herself was a repeat State Fair Blue Ribbon winner in that category. I asked, "Isn’t the name usually Mary Beth?" They explained that their Mom’s youngest sister couldn’t pronounce Mary Beth, only Mary Bess and the name stuck. Jane looked at me skeptically, but Nancy wanted to know more. She tossed out a few key questions. Why do you smell cinnamon and we don’t? How did you know our Mom’s name? Could she possibly have a message for us? I told them that Mary Bess says “Keep the Faith!” Jane told me that was the exact phrase her Mom used at the end of their daily phone chats. She asked for my phone number. I gave the mixing bowl back to Nancy and gave Jane my card.

I was shaken to the core and had to get out of there. The proprietor called out, “Thanks for stopping in!” as I charged for the door. Startled, I looked up and saw the locked china hutch behind him. A matching blue tea cup! I bought it. In a friendly exchange, I was informed that some of the best books on Depression glass are written by Gene Florence.

Glass has never been my thing; its been books, books, books for me ever since my first-grade reading challenge. Except for the vintage beaded bags and bangles that I made room for in a corner of my shop, that is. Is my fascination with the tiny spheres a precursor to a more expansive, a more in-depth glass indoctrination? And what of these unusual experiences? The only psychic experience I’ve ever had before was the dream I had at the moment of the Columbia space shuttle disaster. I have only told a few close family members about what happened that morning.

Hope Millie calls.