On Fire

That's what Eric says whenever I say I'm hot -- "You're on fire, baby."
Nyuk nyuk.

I took only Thing 2 to The Crucible on Saturday, because she was the only available and interested child. And I only got pictures after my camera-toting sister showed up with her Things too, because I could only remember to go, not to record.

As we got there, a dance troupe was performing. Young women moving to throbbing drums, their bodies as sinuous as molten glass. No pictures, but really, without the vibration of the drums pounding through your body, it wouldn't be the same.

We watched a glassworker change a block of layered glass into a cone of layered glass in the kiln -- it reminded me of how I carefully turn my marshmallows around in the glow of campfires so they'll brown evenly and also stay on the stick. We tried to watch some welding, but it was difficult and we couldn't hear what the artist was saying (those drums). So we wandered upstairs.


The space is a huge industrial warehouse, with sort of alcoves for different arts, such as woodworking, neon, blacksmithing. I really thought of all my children, this is the one who will want to take classes here. Fortunately, she's old enough to now.


Maybe she's on fire, too.

After watching the fire eaters, and hearing that they offered a one-day fire eating workshop, her eyes simply glowed. I had to tell her that she had to wait on that one.