O to the C

To be honest, there are days I wish I had fallen madly in creative love with gemstones or beads or paper clips. Something with the promise of uniformity, relatedness or the availability to be ordered up in perfect sets of two. Seaglass comes to you randomly and utterly without organization. The protracted process of getting seaglass readied for jewelry is washing, then wrangling imperfects, then sorting by color on a big covered table.

Spread out like a rainy day game, anyone passing by is invited, ne encouraged, to make observations and arrange the seaglass pieces. So as to pique interest and not overwhelm visitors unaccustomed to the ritual, I might purposely select less abundant secondary colors; “funny blueish-greens” or “not quite whites”. Plastic bins once containing pre-washed spinach now elevated to holding seaglass are hauled down from the shelf and dumped on a white towel. Good light is crucial, but sometimes a special calibration of coffee and rum can aid color perception and lend a festive air to the proceedings.

Winter-escapees visiting us during high season sometimes develop a fixation and keep sorting well after the sun has begun to set, secretly guaranteeing themselves return use of the guest room. If they ask whether obsessive compulsive disorder is contagious, I just smile and spill out another container of seaglass.

“More ice in your drink?” I ask.


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