Mirrors and Memories (Blog Post A)

Glass. The slick silver sheen running smooth between two small hands. The first memory I have of my great-grandfather, a man who is going to be 97 in November, was handling these panes in the garage of his home in Hot Springs. He had a glass working shop, where he created various mirrors, magnets, clocks, pieces of artwork crafted entirely out of mirrors.

Before my great-grandfather’s macular degeneration got the best of him, I would spend days I wasn’t in school at his house (as a single parent, my mom was often working these holidays and summers). A majority of the time at his house would be spent in the garage/shop. At first, all I was allowed to do was help hand him glass and watch in doe-eyed eagerness as he worked.

He would sand the edges of rough glass, silver it, and then it would become a work of art. It was too hot or too cold, depending on the weather, and it often smelled: a bit dirty from being outside, a bit stale, and a distinct odor that as I grew older I came to associate with “science happens” as he silvered pieces of glass. I remember helping him chip the edges of finished mirrors into a scalloped pattern. Huge circles or small magnets, he would set me in his lap, my youthful smooth against his weathered farmer’s hands, and we would chip the edges of the glass.

As I grew older and got generally steadier, he would let me chip the glass myself. Sometimes we would spend afternoons drawing on the refrigerator magnets (flowers, Bible verses, funny sayings) with vibrant paint pens or assembling clocks or mirrored mosaics, or even once a glittering lamp. My favorite mirror working activities involved etching, though, which added a completely different smell to the mix. We could etch chemically, which often had a pungent odor, or by hand with a Dremel tool that had a loud sharp sound.

Unfortunately, my great-grandfather no longer has the ability to do the mirror work he used too. The shop, however, sits in the unused half of the garage, collecting dust and serving to spark memories of these hot summer days and cold winter afternoons I spent crafting with him.