minimal courtesy. Elizabeth looked too brittle to me, and it was clear she didn’t want to be here. In any case, I really was itching to get started on my own work and I had no patience for social chat. “It’s okay, Denis.”
“Great! Oh, I brought that check along.”
“Good.” I took the check from his outstretched hand, folded it, and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.
Denis turned to his wife, who looked as though she was afraid a glass piece would jump out and bite her. “Why don’t you go look at the items in the shop? I won’t be long.”
“All right,” she said. She paid no attention to me.
When Elizabeth had taken herself to the shop, I asked, “Have you told her what you’re doing?”
“No. I said I was investing in your business, and I’d promised you a check today. Can we speed this up? She wants to get to the office—she’s in insurance—and I told her I’d drop her off.” He glanced nervously at his wife.
“Fine.” I led him over to the space between my furnace and my annealer, where the glass kiln sat. It was a top loader, maybe three feet high, with controls on the front. “I told you about the kiln here. What you see is what you get. The temperature control is here on the front, and you’ll have to give it time to heat up.” I opened the top lid. “You just place your material on the floor inside, here. Do you have a strategy for temperatures for your stones?”
“I thought I’d start by trying a range of temperatures and a range of times, then narrow it down. This is just preliminary. It might not even work.”
“What kind of volume are you talking about? I mean, a couple of stones at a time, or a couple of pounds?” I wondered how many stones he was willing to sacrifice to his experimenting.
“Oh, not much at once. A handful maybe. The unpolished stones—the rough—are not very valuable at this point—heck, you can buy them by the pound. So it’s no great loss if this doesn’t work. I just look at it as a business investment. How do you recommend I put them in the kiln?”
“I’ve got some small crucibles that should work, and I’ll show you how to get them in and out of the kiln. You have to remember everything is hot, even though you can’t tell by looking at it.” An awful thought occurred to me. “Is this process dangerous? Because I’m not sure my insurance covers activities outside of normal glassblowing.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes stones have been known to blow up.”
“Then you’re wearing safety goggles, at a minimum. Not negotiable. And maybe you’d better sign a standard liability waiver.” I made my students sign something, but I wasn’t sure if that would apply here. Still, it would be better than nothing. I was beginning to wonder what I had let myself in for.
“No problem. I understand your concerns, and I certainly don’t want to put myself at risk, or anyone else. Not for a bunch of stones.”
Elizabeth stuck her head in the door. “Are you about done, Denis?”
“Just another minute or two,” he replied. He turned so that his back blocked his wife’s view of us. “Would you like to see what I’m talking about?” he whispered.
“I guess.” I watched as he reached into his pocket and fished out a bag filled with what looked like gravel.
Denis opened it and poured a portion of the contents onto his hand, where they glinted with a dull green light. “Arizona rough. Not very impressive, I’ll admit, but they look a bit better when they’ve been cut and polished. I’m hoping to make them even better than that.”
“What’re you aiming for?”
“If I’m lucky, they’ll come out a darker, richer green, closer to emerald, although they’ll probably always have a yellowish cast, as opposed to emerald’s rather bluish tone. Something to shoot for, isn’t it? In any case, darker is better—and more valuable. Is there anything else I should know about the kiln?”
I thought for a moment. “No, I think
“Great! Oh, I brought that check along.”
“Good.” I took the check from his outstretched hand, folded it, and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.
Denis turned to his wife, who looked as though she was afraid a glass piece would jump out and bite her. “Why don’t you go look at the items in the shop? I won’t be long.”
“All right,” she said. She paid no attention to me.
When Elizabeth had taken herself to the shop, I asked, “Have you told her what you’re doing?”
“No. I said I was investing in your business, and I’d promised you a check today. Can we speed this up? She wants to get to the office—she’s in insurance—and I told her I’d drop her off.” He glanced nervously at his wife.
“Fine.” I led him over to the space between my furnace and my annealer, where the glass kiln sat. It was a top loader, maybe three feet high, with controls on the front. “I told you about the kiln here. What you see is what you get. The temperature control is here on the front, and you’ll have to give it time to heat up.” I opened the top lid. “You just place your material on the floor inside, here. Do you have a strategy for temperatures for your stones?”
“I thought I’d start by trying a range of temperatures and a range of times, then narrow it down. This is just preliminary. It might not even work.”
“What kind of volume are you talking about? I mean, a couple of stones at a time, or a couple of pounds?” I wondered how many stones he was willing to sacrifice to his experimenting.
“Oh, not much at once. A handful maybe. The unpolished stones—the rough—are not very valuable at this point—heck, you can buy them by the pound. So it’s no great loss if this doesn’t work. I just look at it as a business investment. How do you recommend I put them in the kiln?”
“I’ve got some small crucibles that should work, and I’ll show you how to get them in and out of the kiln. You have to remember everything is hot, even though you can’t tell by looking at it.” An awful thought occurred to me. “Is this process dangerous? Because I’m not sure my insurance covers activities outside of normal glassblowing.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes stones have been known to blow up.”
“Then you’re wearing safety goggles, at a minimum. Not negotiable. And maybe you’d better sign a standard liability waiver.” I made my students sign something, but I wasn’t sure if that would apply here. Still, it would be better than nothing. I was beginning to wonder what I had let myself in for.
“No problem. I understand your concerns, and I certainly don’t want to put myself at risk, or anyone else. Not for a bunch of stones.”
Elizabeth stuck her head in the door. “Are you about done, Denis?”
“Just another minute or two,” he replied. He turned so that his back blocked his wife’s view of us. “Would you like to see what I’m talking about?” he whispered.
“I guess.” I watched as he reached into his pocket and fished out a bag filled with what looked like gravel.
Denis opened it and poured a portion of the contents onto his hand, where they glinted with a dull green light. “Arizona rough. Not very impressive, I’ll admit, but they look a bit better when they’ve been cut and polished. I’m hoping to make them even better than that.”
“What’re you aiming for?”
“If I’m lucky, they’ll come out a darker, richer green, closer to emerald, although they’ll probably always have a yellowish cast, as opposed to emerald’s rather bluish tone. Something to shoot for, isn’t it? In any case, darker is better—and more valuable. Is there anything else I should know about the kiln?”
I thought for a moment. “No, I think
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