My blog posts have been few and far between. I was thinking about that the other night. It occurred to me that it might be nice to post about the studio we're working on. The problem is, for it to be significant, it would have to be clear what it means to me. Everyone would have to understand what lampworking means to me.
In order for that to happen, I have to go farther back than 3 years ago, when I first started lampworking. I have to go back much, much farther. So, here goes. It may take more than one post...hopefully those posts will actually be written.
My childhood sucked. There's no other way to put it. It was a blessing to graduate from high school a year early and go off to college. I went to Clemson as a pre-vet major. All my life I wanted to be a vet.
Some classes I had no problems acing, like biology and english, others I struggled with. For some classes, like chemistry, it was that I was thrown in with 100 other students in an auditorium and taught things that I had never seen before, while the two guys a few seats away complained about the material; apparently they had already learned it in high school. I'd taken the most advanced classes offered in my high school and the hardest thing we did was memorize the periodic table. Oddly enough, though, I had no problems in organic chemistry, where most students failed.
The other classes I struggled with were my animal science classes. They were easy enough. In fact, after growing up on a farm, I found them almost too easy. I just despised what we were required to do. I seemed to be the only one who had a problem with doing things like cutting a baby pig's stomach open to castrate him while he squealed with pain and tried desperately to free himself from between my knees, or giving daily bottle-feedings to a calf until he was ready for slaughter. When I questioned why we had to do things that way, why we couldn't anesthetize, I was told it was because that was how the farmers did it. Just because they do it that way doesn't mean it's right.
Like I said, I was struggling. I was, like I had been for most of my life, lost. Then halfway through my sophomore year, as fate would have it, I met my husband. He was a business major (which my dad always told me was a joke). He was cute, sweet, sensitive, and considerate. We were friends first, and we are friends still. For the first time in my life, I was found.
Continue with part 2 here.
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