My Little Golden Book of Phobias

Today was my sweetie's birthday and we went to the Tacoma Glass Museum. Ordinarily, glass art makes me yawn. We're all Dale Chihuly here in the NW and, well, I blaspheme but he's boring. And he does the same stuff over and over and he's everywhere. Just look up when you're next at the Opera (or the ballet or a play or even the Majestic Bay movie house) and there he is. Snore.

But.

Today we watched a gang of youth blow, heat, shape and aim blazing torches at molten glass and they didn't burn themselves. It was astonishing. I would undoubtedly touch the glowing end of pretty glass after it came out of a 5 zillion degree oven with my naked finger because I forgot it was hot. I would. I forget where I am. I'm sure I'd be real sorry if I did that too. So we sat rapt while the youth gang messed around without personal injury to themselves or others. Then we went and looked at the galleries. The best was a toss-up. The locals made glass art from kid's drawings. My favorite was a dog eating flowers. The other favorite was a room sized installation of clear glass in the shapes of trees, leaves, clouds, a waterfall, bushes and grasses. It was all suspended from the ceiling by fishing line and soooooo magical.

Then we went to the best vegetarian restaurant and had black truffles and avocado mousse and salsify and so many other esoteric ingredients I feel positively high falutin'.

So kiss my grits.