Back in December, some of the fine folks at St Luke's church held what is known as an "Auction of Promises." Basically, people donated their time and skills and talents for people to bid on as a way of raising money. (In this case, for the refurbishment of the church interior.) The Evans-Crawford team was no exception. Jeff offered to tune up a computer by cleaning the bits inside the case, updating drivers, clearing caches, and whatever else was needed short of buying new bits to put in it. Kate volunteered to make a personalized storybook that would be beautifully bound by her Gran. I auctioned off a "cookie of the month" membership. (Basically, I would bake the winner one batch of cookies a month for an entire year.... no surprise there!) Even Gran got involved by donating some handbound photo albums made with artisan paper. All our lots sold and the auction itself made well over £5000.
Before the auction took place, a well organized catalogue of things for sale was offered to those who had an interest in attending the auction or placing a bid in absentia. There were some truly fabulous things on offer. Weekend or full week stays at various vacation homes. Interior decoration advice. Babysitting services. Deluxe celebration cakes. Pilates classes. A basket of homemade chutneys.
But there was one thing that caught my eye. An evening of enameling for up to three people. There were other things that I looked at wistfully. A song written for the person of your choice. Jars of marmalade. A family photo session. A piano lesson. Heck, I would have loved to have won one of the holiday rentals, but as things normally go in our family, money was tight and we had to plan carefully.
Having heard that pilates can be good for a bad back, Jeff decided that he would bid on the pilates class taster sessions. He can be sensible when the mood strikes. I kept coming back to the enameling. Up to three people. Huh. That gave me an idea. (I have them so rarely...) I would ask two of my friends to join forces to win this evening of what looked to be incredible and creative fun.
I didn't have to look far. My dear friends Gill and Alison both thought it was a fantastic idea. We worked out the logistics as far as how much money we were willing to spend and who would do the bidding on the night of the event. (It would be funny, but silly if we bid against each other!) All three of us were involved in the event on the night. Alison and I were part of the kitchen crew responsible for feeding the hordes of people who had bought tickets in advance or in some cases showed up on the night while Gill was recording secretary and treasurer for the auction itself.
The evening was a great success for both the church and for the three amigos of bidding. We won our evening of enameling and looked forward to meeting up with our friend Clare who would teach us this mysterious art form.
We tried to set up a date in January. Alas, after a very UN-white Christmas, the Weather Channel decided to gift us with a snowy weekend.... on the day of our event, of course. After some frantic emails and texts, we decided to postpone. We didn't exactly forget about it, but we didn't exactly remember it either. So, suddenly in February, a small village of (energy efficient, of course) light bulbs went off over our heads and we enthusiastically set up another date with the talented and lovely Clare.
A March date was arranged and as it drew closer, Clare began to filter a few safety tips our way. Wine and nibbles would be served, but after a certain point we would need to stop due to the very toxic nature of some of the enameling powder. We had to be careful not to ingest it by accident or death could be imminent.
Then there was the last minute advice to make sure that we wore closed toe shoes. Though spring was just starting to consider making an appearance, I felt relatively sure that none of us had broken out the flip flops as of yet... but we're a wild bunch, so I passed the advice along just in case someone decided to show off their latest pedicure.
Gill's husband, Peter, kindly offered (well, either that or Gill drugged him earlier in the week and made him sign a promise) to drive us to and from our event so that we could drink without fear of police reprisals or the three of us ending up in a jail cell. (You can decide what the charges would be. Use your imagination.) As I hopped onto the back seat, I cheerily greeted everyone and inquired about their footwear. Peter chuckled from the front seat.
"Why the advice about shoes," he asked. "Are there some small critters that might nibble your toes?" (Clare and her family are the ones who rescued Alejandro the Hedgehog featured in the February 2011 blog entry entitled "The Visitor.")
"No, no," I assured him. "It's strictly for our safety. Clare had told me a story about Pippa working in the lab and dropping something horrible on her not-well-protected feet and I think she's being careful. She doesn't want us dropping molten materials on ourselves!"
And so.... we arrived. There was much giggling and excited laughter as we approached the house. Nigel (Clare's husband) opened the door to us and looked at us puzzledly. It was as if he hadn't been expecting us.
"Hi, Nigel!" We sailed past him and into the house, unzipping our coats as Nigel continued to peer at us. "Where's Clare?" He still looked uncertain. "We're here to do enameling....." Suddenly the laughter stopped as we saw his continued look of blankness. "She did TELL you we were coming, didn't she?" He struggled to say something. "She IS here..... isn't she?" I wonder if we sounded as hysterical as we did in my head.
At that, Clare came out of the sitting room as Nigel burst out laughing. Great jokesters these two. I'll have to keep my eye on them in the future. Now that all their children will be going off to the great wide world of higher education in the fall, they'll have more time on their hands to get into tomfoolery and general mischief.
Soon we were safely ensconced in the kitchen, oooo-ing and aaaaah-ing over pieces that Clare had done in the past and trying to decide what we wanted. Earrings? A pendant? Hearts? Apples? What colour?? Too many choices!!
Gill and Alison seemed to settle on a general theme pretty quickly while I wondered if another glass of wine would make my decision any easier. Alison was making a set of cufflinks for her eldest child and number one son, Joseph, who was turning eighteen that weekend. Gill picked out colours and soon spotted a butterfly stencil that would make a lovely pendant.
I was sinking into the despair of indecision when I spotted it. My eyes bounced over it and came back to it again... and again. Oh, dear. I had found what I wanted to do. Clare had made a beautiful pendant with a solitary tree silhouetted on it. Before Christmas, I had been searching for a tree pin or necklace to give my Mother as a gift. (Sorry, Mom... you'll just have to act surprised if I ever find a suitable one for you.) "I love this!" I said to Clare. "I want to make one!" She studied me for a moment.
"Well, you ARE creative, I think you'll be able to do it." She handed me a piece of paper and a pencil. "Here, start sketching trees." Why did I have the sinking feeling that I had picked something that probably wasn't a beginner piece?
I sketched away while we drank and nibbled and giggled and cut bits of copper sheeting with a shears/snips that looked as if it had a previous career in emasculation. Gill and Alison filed the edges of their pieces while I sketched some more trees that looked more like things that could have been seen worn as hats at a royal wedding or pretending to be hair on the women of the French Court of Marie Antoinette and less like forest outcasts. Growing dissatisfied with my tree-making abilities (perhaps the poet Kilmer was trying to sketch one when he wrote "but only God can make a tree") I decided to file my copper base for what I had decided would be a pin. Alison was a pro at this filing business due to her endless hours of experience with nails of both the finger and toe variety, Gill had managed it without trouble..... how hard could it be?
Ha.
It wasn't really difficult if I'm honest. However, when my two cohorts had filed dutifully at the edges of their projects what could be described as a "proper" noise was made. Not proper as in a good, loud noise. No. A proper noise that one would expect to be made when filing metal. A rasping scrape of metal against metal.
I made two passes of file against copper. Puzzled, I stopped and looked at the piece and then at the file. All seemed to be in order. I tried again and giggled. I couldn't help it really. I looked up and Gill was looking at me in a way that suggested perhaps I had had too much wine to drink. That couldn't be the case! I'd only had one! Or was it two? Still! I filed again. And giggled... again. Alison glanced at me from across the table.
"Tell me you don't hear it," I said to the two of them between fits of giggling. I tried to file again only to be gripped by yet another wave of suppressed laughter. "Why does it sound like I'm killing a duck when I try to file this!?" I punctuated my assertion with a demonstration.
"It does!" They exclaimed and joined in the giggling.
"Maybe you're holding it wrong."
"Are you putting enough pressure on it?"
"Alison's didn't make this noise!"
"Yes, but she's a professional."
Quaaaaaaack. Quaaaaaaaack. Quaaaaaack. Quack quack quack quack. More laughter and giggling ensued.
Enter Clare looking like teacher who has returned to her classroom to find paper airplanes mid-flight while girls painted each others nails and gossiped. "I'm sorry!" I sputtered between giggles. "It's just.... and it sounds like.... see!" I demonstrated once more for good measure. I wondered if Clare was regretting ever auctioning off her services.
Solemnly, we were taken into the inner sanctum where the kiln and the more toxic elements of our evening were waiting. Wine and nibbles left behind, we entered single file, a line of postulants awaiting their novitiate habits and vows.
She wasn't kidding about the toxic thing. A tray of small bottles, an alchemist's dream, each sported a VERY obvious skull and crossbows as a VERY strong warning of the content's edibility or lack thereof. The kiln was smaller than I expected, but quickly demonstrated its effectiveness by bathing us in a warmth that both provided comfort and forewarned of its danger.
It was a trial by fire and powder.
We prepped the copper pieces and carefully used a teeny tiny sieve to apply the poisonous powders to what we hoped would be our greatest of masterpieces. Caustic rainbows and magical colour changing moments of ooooo's and aaaaaah's. I layered powders of different shades to create a sunset and added a black hill that would soon support the tree that was causing me more and more fear. Like a certain hobbit approaching Mt Doom, I knew danger lay ahead but was powerless to turn my feet from my fate.
Occasionally, we would slip into the cooler kitchen to sip carefully from our glasses. We replaced wine with fruit juice help keep our minds focused and our hands steady. I must admit to occasionally (and carefully) sneaking a nibble now and then.
The moment arrived. A tree must be planted. I looked at the pin with a critical eye. Mayhaps I could just leave the piece as a dark hill and a sunset? Surely that could be a new and visionary style! Or not. Ah, well. So, taking a deep breath (not so deep as to inhale some horrible toxins and die some hideous and probably disfiguring death) I began. And then finished. Clare cast her expert eye over it.
"Hey! That looks really good," she exclaimed with more than a little surprise.
And so encouraged, I added some birds to my windswept landscape and a small figure dancing beneath the tree.
"That looks like it could be in Africa," one of my cohorts said.
"Is the person supposed to be David Attenborough?" Funny. Ha ha.
In the end we came away with some very lovely pieces of jewellery that we would cherish and would serve to remind us of the night we became initiated into the sacred toxic sisterhood. And... nobody died!
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| Hmmm... Maybe I did have too much wine! |
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| Note Sir David Attenborough dancing beneath my tree! |
