Beach Glass Fireplace Progress Report

There was a bit more planning and discussing and youtube video watching re the beach glass project today, but mostly C and I just got to it. We set up our work area and very gingerly carried our layout from the kitchen island over to the hearth.

C mixed the thinset. And after we let it rest as per the instructions, I remixed it.

There was definitely a learning curve in the spreading of the thinset. While we bought the smallest trowel available, it would have been better to have a child's toy tile setting kit. We employed a plastic fork and a toothpick along with the trowel and discarded the large orange work gloves immediately. Our hands are no worse for the wear, and I think we look a bit like we've had a French manicure. All the morsels of beach glass are now set, but I'm not going to provide a final photo until after the grout is in and the tape is removed. 

The day that I found the most beach glass ever in my brief beach glass hunting career, Dan was with me. We took an especially long walk that day, and our walk happened to coincide with low tide. I came home with at least two cups of the stuff, many of the pieces prime specimens. While some walking companions might not enjoy walking with someone stopping and starting as well as being somewhat preoccupied, Dan didn't seem to mind. I often interrupted our walking conversations on the beach to point out birds, too. 

There are so many traces of a person after they die. Their slippers under the bed. The bathrobe on the hook. When my father died some 40-some years ago, it was his empty recliner that took my breath away. Today our electronic devices leave even more tangible traces. Voicemails, recording of rehearsals, videos of his t'ai chi classes. I can click on the Kindle app on his iPad and see what books he had in his library. I can read his emails and check on his Facebook page. I want to mortar all of it into my heart.

Orange is the New Black

My builder grade fireplace. Nice enough. Boring though.

It always surprises me that heartache feels so much like....heartache. 

 But as one friend goes, another arrives. Even before my friend P left this morning, my daughter C was here. In fact both daughters are here now. 

I went to yoga for the first time in 2 or 3 weeks. I went to the supermarket for groceries. Look, I'm doing what the living do. Except things like remembering the sentence I just read or wrote.

Today, with C here, I decided I needed projects. Let's put leather conditioner on the cat-scratched sofa. Let's paint the hearth orange. Let's take all the beach glass I've gathered over the last two years and tile the fireplace with it. This is the sort of project that could go horribly wrong if left to my own devices, but C is meticulous. First there were a couple hours of research, then beach glass washing and sorting.

Then portioning out the colors so they'll be somewhat evenly distributed.

And now we've begun a sort of practice layout so we won't be just winging it when we put the morsels of glass into the thinset.

Remember the Rolling Stones song "Paint It Black"?

I see my red door and I want it painted black

No colors anymore I want them to turn black

I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back

I'm taking the opposite approach. If I painted anything black it would be the end of me.