Hot Mess Part Fifty-Five: Four Mondays in April, Three Mondays in May

8 Months in Glass

23 May 2026

I'm easily influenced by the glassblowers I work with. There's something free and easy about the pieces Sometimes creates, but if I'm in precision mode, she's right there to help me. I began this spring with straight, thin-lipped drinking glasses in mind. I ended the season in a melting free-for-all, which might or might not require precision in its own way. 

Sometimes and I reserved every Monday night from April 6 to May 18.

But First...

The Ghost of Bucks reared its ugly head when someone in our former workshop chat group posted a flier asking for donations toward a mobile Dragon as a replacement for the year-dead glassblowing program.

I had questions, which I emailed to the Foundation:

I did not expect answers, and I didn't receive any. All my money was going to East Falls anyway. 

We Don't Like Todd (April 6)

There are five annealers at East Falls. The one farthest from the front door is a vertical giant named Todd. It's the annealer that I placed Sometimes' piece in, the piece that rolled and bounced and smashed another person's work on its way to the floor, back in the fall. Todd still makes me nervous. On this night, Todd's door burned Sometimes' fingertips. 

I started my night off badly too, by dropping a piece made from two rod slivers. I smashed the remains and picked them up right away. What came out was a tall, textured, heavy drinking glass.

Sometimes settled into making mushrooms and flowers while her fingertips seethed. I always carry bandaids for this sort of thing, which helped a little.

I went for another rod sliver combination of Narcissus and Cherry Red, attempting to get straight sides (mostly) and a thin lip (I've done worse). Sometimes helped by paddling the top while I worked the sides. The folks at East Falls like making squared-off bottoms too, but I'm a fan of leaving a curve. 

The swirl idea I got from Sometimes, putting my own spin (sorry) on it.

Where the red and yellow overlapped, the colors made a subtle orange. It was good enough to set aside as a future gift.

I tried again with Seed Green and Blue Jade. The top was thicker than I wanted; this is persistent problem when I work with rods, even when I start the jack line lower down or attempt to trim the top. This is a thing I'll need a private lesson to fix, I think. I brought the cup into work to sell, and it sold.

The window sill glass sale was going well enough that, halfway through April, I rounded up and sent the Trenton Area Soup Kitchen a donation.

After that, I started keeping the proceeds for myself.

We like Herbert (April 13)

The second Monday in April was almost hot. We were the only ones working, which is the best situation to be in. Our assigned annealer was Herbert, one of the two small ones closest to the front door. At first sight, Herbert looks as if it would be too small to hold anything, but it's deep, and wide enough to lie a tall vase sideways if there's not a lot else going on.

Sometimes took advantage of this, scooping up All The Glass levels of gathers to make a very tall swung vase. 

I stayed small. The pipes were hot even as they cooled off in the buckets across from the pipe warmer. Sometimes went outside and took her shoes off while I started my turn.

I made a little mushroom with Emerald Green and Citron frit.

Then I swirled the same colors for a drinking glass that would go to one of the two tied winners of my retirement date betting pool.

Sometimes and I were definitely in a rhythm now. 

I went for a repeat of the failed Blue Jade and Blue Aventurine rod sliver cup I'd tried before. The previous one was misshapen and thick, too thick to smash for shards. My office companion, who seems to like my rejects, claimed it for herself as part of my glass sale. This time, I had a better handle on things, and the cup went into my permanent collection.

I had one more pair of rod slivers in the warming oven: Gold Amethyst and Cherry Red. I wasn't sure what would happen here, and it was hard to tell when I was working the glass. In the end, the amethyst was mostly drowned out behind the red. I decided to give this one to the second winner of the betting pool.

Finally, I mixed some bits of aventurine stringer from All The Glass' basement stash with some lime green shards I'd created from the studio's discard bucket. Another tall glass emerged. It ended up halfway across the country as a birthday present.

This was another rare instance of my liking everything enough to keep. 

Meanwhile, the new deck was finished, and I made a point to sit out there as often as possible.

Monday Blues (April 20)

We were in Herbert again the night that I was probably sick and didn't know it. We were assigned the bench closest to the door, farthest from the furnace. The glory hole seemed to be running hotter than we were used to. My control of the glass and of my body was loose. 

I layered Jewel Tone Mix over Enamel White and went for a tall, swung vase. The heat of the glory hole stretched the neck out farther than I expected. I was happy with that. And then I hit the edge of the bench with the back of the punty and the vase crashed to the floor.

I picked up the pieces and smashed them to use as shards during my next turn.

Sometimes, using blue frit swirled with white, had the top of her piece collapse onto itself in the glory hole. We put it away anyhow. "I'm calling it Monday Blues," she said.

I picked up the shards on a white background, with another gather over that. This was a lot of glass, much more than I was used to handling. At the last step, the top pinched on itself into a double opening. We decided to keep it like that. I wanted to fire polish the bottom after I broke it off the punty. We put it away.

After a few minutes to allow the annealer temperature to come back up after the door had been open, I opened the door again to take a picture. The vase had craked and was now broken in three places, probably because I had polished the bottom when the vase was too cold.

I pulled the pieces out and smashed them.

With the pieces, I made another vase with clear as the base color. The shards were so dilute at this point that the Jewel Tone colors were nearly invisible. But at least I got something into the annealer.

Sometimes made another blue piece that veered off course towards the end, but it was worth keeping.

I picked up a trio of rod slivers in muted shades of blue and pink. I swirled them. I had a pretty cylinder going when we transferred to the punty. But when I brought it into the glory hole, the top half exploded off. Sometimes fished out the fallen half. I looked at what was left, decided I could work with it, and made a small floppy bowl from the uneven remains.

Of course, the bottom broke out when I knocked it off the punty. I didn't care. I stuck it in the annealer anyway.

There was a nifty line of bubbles in the middle of the Cornflower Blue part.

I have UV-curing adhesive at home. I used masking tape to cover the hole, poured the adhesive in, held the UV flashlight over it, and created a clear, flat patch. 

Nobody would see it. Defective pieces like this, if they survive, don't leave the house.

At some point, one of the staff, who had been teaching at the middle bench, came over and turned the heat down on our glory hole. 

I had already decided to cut my losses and make a couple of flowers. The last time I made flowers was two years ago. Clearly, I'd forgotten the steps.

One of the post-docs in the lab adopted them.

When Sometimes sent me her half of the bench fee on Venmo, she called the payment "Monday Blues."

I was so wound up from the night's chaos that I had trouble sleeping. I was exhausted the next day. The following morning, I woke up dizzy. When I moved my eyes left, I could hear the sound of my eye muscles moving in my left ear. I spent the rest of the week off the bike, away from my weights, and moving slowly.

Flowa Powa (April 27)

I was feeling better but still a bit dizzy the following Monday night. All three benches were being used for classes and rentals. Sometimes and I were doing our best to stay out of everyone's way.

I didn't trust that my body would be cooperative, so I started off with one big piece and planned the rest of the night to make more flowers for the post-doc.

For the big piece, I used Opal Blue Gray powder under the remaining shards from last week's explosion. I was handling a lot of glass. It swung out straight on one side and curved on the other, as a vase will when the punty is off-center. It was thick and heavy, but at least it didn't explode. 

At home, this vase looked muddy. I hauled it into work, where there's a steady southwestern light in my office window. It looked much more vibrant there. I slapped a price tag on it.

The more I looked at it, the more I realized that these swung vases, which look as if they're melting upwards, really need to be upside-down.

With a craft fair coming up, Sometimes was cranking out roses, mushrooms, and a duck or two.

I added to the crowded annealer, Herbert again, with a pile of my own flowers.

I'd been focused so much on making better petals that I hadn't paid attention to the too-short stems.

Only one flower came out the way I wanted it to.

The night's Venmo memo was "Flowa Powa." I liked that Sometimes was helping me label my blog post chapters.

The post-doc had already bought two of the window sale flowers from me, plus the two that I'd given her the week before. Now I had three more. She wasn't yet in when I arrived. I took one of the sale vases, a Cherry Red bubble mold vase I'd made with Alchemy in my early days (good grief was that top thick!). With the bundle of flowers stuffed inside, the top was hidden and the short stems were the perfect length.

The ones I didn't sell to her ended up with the others I'd put into the front corner of my yard in 2023.

Crowded Gathering (May 4)

The studio was swarming with beginners again. They didn't know where to stand. They didn't know they were in the way. It wasn't their fault. 

Somehow, we were all supposed to share Herbert.

Amid the chaos, Sometimes was trying to make more flowers for her craft show. Flowers are fast. Flowers need two gathers on a punty in quick succession. The beginners were crowded around the furnace, trying to sheild themselves and each other from the heat. Sometimes was being patient. The instructors figured out what was going on and parted the seas.

Meanwhile, I layered Jewel Tone frit mix over Enamel White and attempted to remake the tall vase that I'd dropped two weeks ago. Now that I was feeling better, I figured I could swing the glass without fear of toppling over. 

Instead, the top of the vase exploded off after the transfer. This happens to me when the middle is thin. I looked at it and decided I could still swing it. I let the heat of the glory hole soften the sharp edges and swung it a little. We agreed that it was worthy and put it away.

Some mistakes are keepers.

I had wedged a sliver of clear glass between two slivers of blue aventurine. I picked them up together and twisted them. The clear glass all but disappeared. Because this was rod, my top was thick, as always. I decided to flare it instead of pulling because I wanted to retain whatever subtle swirl was left.

The shape was unsatisfying, but, "it is what it is," and we put it away. When Sometimes saw the photo, she called it a "quiet swirl."

There were a few shards left from the Monday Blues explosion. Figuring they were too pale on their own, I layered them on top of black frit. I got a thin little vase out of it. The shape was better. The shards were shy.

At the end of the night, I made some more flowers, trying to balance the petals with the stems this time. Some of them worked.

At home, I stuffed tissues into the bottom of Quiet Swirls and loaded it up with flowers so that the ugly top was hidden.

I scooted the three mushrooms over and took a picture. Sometimes called the whole thing "Wonderland," and now these pieces cannot be separated.

Captain Hook (May 11)

I needed to try something. 

"I'm going to take up a lot of space tonight," I warned the staff. 

I was going to make tall, swung vases, and put hooks on the bottom so they'd appear to be oozing downward. 

We were assigned to Herbert again. Sometimes wanted to make bowls. There was a beginner class. Things were going to be tight.

The last time I made hooks was in December. How quickly I forget. The first one wasn't even a complete hook. 

My plan was to coat a gather in Enamel White, dip one side in Jewel Tone frit, twist the whole thing, get a bubble going inside, gather over a couple of times, put a button on the bottom to shore up the spot where the hook would go (my trick from the balloon days), transfer, leave the top uneven, and swing, letting the uneven surface pull out in whatever direction it chose.

I did this four times, the hooks improving with each attempt. H came to the rescue and made room in the annealer by nestling smaller pieces in the gaps between our big ones.

At the end of the night, I made a couple of flowers with the same color combination. But I made a mistake twice: I held the stem with cold tweezers while I fire-polished the bottom, and both stems broke as I lifted them into the annealer.

The next day was my last as a full-time employee. I was about to burn up all the paid time off that wouldn't be paid out. I snapped a picture of the denuded window sill glass sale. All that was left were a handful of ornaments, a pomegranate with a cracked bottom, and three vases, including the giant one from the dizzy day. If it doesn't sell, I figured, I could drill a hole in it and hang it upside-down in my yard somewhere. Or put a sunflower in it.

The next day, I drove down to East Falls in the late morning, making record time with no traffic.

The flowers were fugly. I took them home anyway, to be shoved into the ground with the others.

I looked at the first vase with the incomplete hook. I wondered if it would hang. I found a metal cup hook in the cold-working room and tried to slide the vase onto it. The glass hook cracked off instantly.

That was stupid of me. On the other hand, this was a pretty vase. I spent fifteen minutes grinding the bottom flat.

I packed up the others without taking pictures. On my way home, I stopped at a local garden store, in search of anything I could hang multiple vases from. I found a small trellis. When I got home, I bent the lower arms inwards and set it into the ground next to the deck. The trellis was thin. I didn't trust it to remain upright, so I used plastic-coated beading wire to tether it to a metal deck support.

Next, I coiled copper wire to secure the vases to the trellis.

When I was finished, I wasn't quite satisfied. Clearly, I needed a fourth (which I could have had, had I not snapped the hook on that first one).

I sent a photo to my office mate, who claimed the small, wonky vase for herself, should I succeed in making more the following Monday. She was continuing her pattern of adopting my rejects.

The colors came out more prominently when I took a flash photo at night.

The next day, the replacement bottle tree for Saint Vitreous arrived. It was cheap, which I knew it would be, and flimsier than I'd hoped it to be. I tethered it to the bottom stake of the former, broken Saint Vitreous bottle tree. This new tree came with a dozen wavy arms that were meant to slot into holders along the base, but they weren't at all stable. I took them out. Instead, I bent what were supposed to be thinner, decorative branches. I angled them outwards and secured the dozen heads of Saint Vitreous. There is still room for more, so I can mess up some more ornaments next time I make a batch. Everything on Saint Vitreous is a reject. That's the rule.

Hot Hot Hot (May 18)

We were in a heat wave. Low Key and Iron Maiden were supposed to join us but bailed. I was determined to make more hanging swung vases, heat or no. Sometimes wanted to make big bowls.

I called ahead to arrange for the larger glory hole (for an extra charge, of course) and to find out if we needed to rent our own small annealer to accommodate all of our big stuff. They decided to play it loose with the annealer. If we ended up in a small one and needed more space, they'd start up the other one for us, no charge.

Although the temperature in the city hit a high of around 97, it wasn't humid. The studio had been quiet for most of the day. When we arrived, our glory hole was the only one on, and we were the only ones working. Although we'd been assigned to Herbert, there were only two small cups already in there. We had plenty of room to take up, and we did. 

I was banging out swung vases with hooks. Sometimes was banging out large floppy bowls. By the time our fourth turns came around, the second small annealer was ready for us. 

The heat did distract me. The pipes were hot even when they'd cooled off. I knew that attempting precise work in these conditions was a fools errand. Fortunately, the only precise part of the hanging swung vases was the hook. Anything uneven on the top or slightly off-center on the punty would help make the vase look melty.

We aimed all the fans on ourselves, something we wouldn't have been able to do if any of the other benches had been occupied. I drank 72 ounces of water and electrolytes in four hours, and another 24 ounces of electrolytes on my way home. 

I've been hotter. I've been stickier. I've been more soaked. But this was quite enough. Sometimes and I agreed that we'd be taking the summer off, unless a cold front were to come through with enough advance warning.

I was in the studio two days later for less than ten minutes to pick up the vases and photograph Sometimes' bowls for her to get a sneak peek. The last one she made, I told her, was chef's kiss. It was gold ruby frit over white, with a perfect, even ripple of flops.

The heat wave was set to break that evening with some heavy rain. I coiled copper wire for Monday's four vases. I removed the one my office mate wanted and filled the trellis with two more.

There was something off about this setup.

I added a fifth. It still wasn't right.

I ordered a 4-hook, shepherd's hook style, plant hanger from Amazon. I hung the sixth vase from another vacant spot. This one was the last one I made, and the droopiest of all.

There's something about the end of a glassblowing season that has me rearranging my collection. Usually this is preceeded by a purge, which had already happened when I started the lab window sill glass sale. 

Now I was left with a handful of pieces that would be good enough to keep for gifts. I kept looking at the little black vase and at the thick-topped blue aventurine swirl vase that was part of Wonderland. After the third hard stare, I made the swap. Much better. Wonderland, version 2.

After the storm broke the heat wave (and half of one of the old red cedars in the back corner of my yard), I went out to see if I could get pictures of water dripping off the drooping vases. Not so much, but they were wet.

What these vases will need is an ice storm. Check back next winter.

Introducing Saint Pendulous

As soon as the new plant hanger landed on my doorstep, I went out back to put it together. 

This was what I'd had in mind all along. Now there is a fifth saint in the yard: Saint Pendulous*.

Overnight it rained, and stayed rainy. I went out to find droplets on Saint Pendulous. Meh. I'll wait for the ice storm.

So that's it. After eight months of 80-mile round trips to Philadelphia, I've half-filled the final shelf, sent off the rejects, smashed the failures, and littered my back yard with more experiments. I've worked with Low Key, GGP, Iron Maiden, and Sometimes, as the Bucks Crew. I've tried precision. I've gone random. I still call out the flaws in my work. When Heddy asked my why I do this, I told her, "I see what I wanted to make instead of what I made."

But now that critic can take a break until I'm back at it again. 

(*The other Saints are, in order of creation, Saint Vitreous, Saint Polychromatous, Saint Cullet, Saint Orbitus, and Saint Miscellaneous.)