Peter Zimmerman Designs in Glass: October 2009

In the ensuing weeks that have gone by, I am struck by the variety of needs my little project of making a living with my work has required. I long for the days when, by the nature of my job description, I was paid to MAKE AS MANY THINGS AS I COULD. It was someone else's job to prepare quarterly sales tax. It was someone else's job to draft a bio or mission statement. It was someone else's job to call a manufacturer to ask why a backordered color is taking three weeks longer than was originally promised. I do find that I get a feeling of satisfaction in doing anything well, and I appreciate the broader scope of tying everything I do into an expression of my self and creativity, but I have to say... I am really really happy with really hot glass in my hands. Call me crazy. Many have.

I have had two quizzical moments of pause of late that I knew I would end up posting about.

In preparation for the opening of this year's Sign of the Dove holiday store ( Opening November 6, 2009 in the Mall at Chestnut Hill; this feels like an amazing opportunity.) I was searching for some appropriate shelves for my display. Having found what I wanted on-line, I waited perhaps a little too long to pick up said shelves when I made my decision. (At the time I thought I would save money on the shipping by purchasing directly from a local outlet , but save my hunting time to that I spent on-line.) I found the shelves I wanted... but not in the clear glass of my dreams, only in a darker walnut. Being particularly picky about the display I then began a physical hunt for something else in and around the Nashua, NH area with the scattershot approach of a shotgun. In proximity, I spied a Sears and thought, you never know, can't hurt to look. No interesting display possibilities but I walked past what I thought was a noteworthy scene. In the men's department, trying on winter jackets were a group of Buddhist Monks in full robe. One monk in particular I noticed was drinking out of what was obviously a Starbucks Coffee cup. I am still pondering the implications of this.

During a period where I can only describe as transportationly challenged (oh how one takes a car for granted when it is working properly) I found myself at Boston's North Station to catch the Lowell commuter train. Having been forcibly made to sit down for a period of time, I glanced up.