I don't know about you, but to me, Spring cleaning means tackling those really big, easy to put off jobs. Yes, I wash the windows and clean all the floors, but I do those chores throughout the year. No,
Spring cleaning means going through my closets and packing up the things I never wear or use and dropping them off at local thrift shops. As I was going through shoe boxes this morning, with that end in mind, I came across a box that didn't hold shoes but had a bunch of different things I purchased at an Oktoberfest festival in 1985 or 1986. How do I remember the date? My son's age is always my reference point when I'm trying to remember dates. I remembered that at this festival, the woman I chatted with about her glass beads, also had a baby in a Snuggli at her chest like I did. She was a glassblower who was selling small collections of her beads in different sizes, shapes and colors, trying to get her space organized because of the new baby. I bought the bag of beads (even though I did not make jewelry at the time) and found them again in the aforementioned shoe box 25 years later. There were just a few pairs of matching beads which I immediately turned into earrings. As I was working with them, I fondly thought of my son's own forays into glass blowing, a craft he has studied and enjoyed for years. Maybe it all started with an overheard conversation in 1985 or 1986.
I don't know about you, but to me, Spring cleaning means tackling those really big, easy to put off jobs. Yes, I wash the windows and clean all the floors, but I do those chores throughout the year. No, Spring cleaning means going through my closets and packing up the things I never wear or use and dropping them off at local thrift shops. As I was going through shoe boxes this morning, with that end in mind, I came across a box that didn't hold shoes but had a bunch of different things I purchased at an Oktoberfest festival in 1985 or 1986. How do I remember the date? My son's age is always my reference point when I'm trying to remember dates. I remembered that at this festival, the woman I chatted with about her glass beads, also had a baby in a Snuggli at her chest like I did. She was a glassblower who was selling small collections of her beads in different sizes, shapes and colors, trying to get her space organized because of the new baby. I bought the bag of beads (even though I did not make jewelry at the time) and found them again in the aforementioned shoe box 25 years later. There were just a few pairs of matching beads which I immediately turned into earrings. As I was working with them, I fondly thought of my son's own forays into glass blowing, a craft he has studied and enjoyed for years. Maybe it all started with an overheard conversation in 1985 or 1986.
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