#houston glass etching

[etchhouston]

Sandblasted and Etched Glass is a great way to customize your conference room, lobby or retail space. Etch Houston offers hand crafted and glass etching services for wall art, mirrors, restrooms, doors, partitions and more!

Call 713-875-0008 to learn more. 

[slinginginkcalligraphy]

Send a letter - Houston calligraphy engraver

Oftentimes these days if I am writing, it is actually engraving in glass, wine bottles, fragrance bottles, spirit bottles, mirrors etc. However, this is how it all started. I simply wanted my written correspondence on paper with friends & family to be beautiful. I began to take calligraphy & Spencerian classes around the country like an obsessive along with becoming curious about engraving and here we are….. a full-grown calligraphy & engraving business.

It is so easy to fire off a text, a tweet or an Instagram post. The recipient reads it and understands the message as it is conveyed. However when you send an actual handwritten letter, there is a shift in the perception of the recipient. That person understands that time was set aside specifically for them to convey this message. It doesn’t have to be written in calligraphy for the recipient to love it.

I have a neighbor who has become a dear friend. He has no cell phone, let alone a smartphone. All of our correspondence is outside as neighbors, via his landline telephone or (yes, you guessed it) mail. Actual letters in the mail. He will send a note simply to tell me about someone he met while walking or the happenings of his day. There is something nostalgically beautiful about that that I absolutely adore.

Next time that you want to say hello to a friend, take the time to write a letter. Obviously not everyday, but just try it. They will love you for it. Cheers!

[babybluebex]

a long, long time [ernst schmidt x reader]

summary ↠ schmidt has been in space for long enough that he's started to forget what his wife is like, and a malfunction aboard the shepard proves that it'll be a long, long time until he sees you again. pairing ↠ ernst schmidt (the cloverfield paradox, 2018) x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 2.8kwarnings ↠ explicit language, pregnancy, angst of many kinds including major character death a/n ↠ (we simply will not perceive how the title are lyrics from rocketman) masterlist and taglist are in my bio! enjoy!

You let out a giggle, and you said, “Ernie, baby, it’s so early, do you really need the camera out right now?”

Your husband smiled at you from behind his phone, and he said, “You know I hate when you call me that. But, yes, starling! How else am I supposed to remember what you look like?”

You put your mug down on the table and reached out for Ernst’s hand, and you said, “You’re only supposed to be up there for six months.”

“At the least,” Ernst replied. “Who knows how long it’ll actually be?”

“Please don’t say that,” you whispered. “I… I can’t imagine you being gone for too long. It hurts my heart.”

Ernst was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying your face. You were always so beautiful to him, especially in moments like this. Ever since he had met you, back in university all those years ago, you had always been the most beautiful in the light of the rising sun. Since getting married, it had become a ritual for the both of you to wake up and watch the sunrise together, and you couldn’t control the hot pinprick of tears at the thought that Ernst, your Ernie, the man you loved, wouldn’t be there with you to comment on the sight of it.

“Well, I at least want a video of you,” Ernst said, and he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your fingers. “So I can hear your laugh.”

You gave him a gentle smile, and you leaned close to him and pressed your mouth to his. You hardly had an hour left before he had to get on a flight to Houston, in the United States, to go up into space on The Shepard. The sun had already greeted your final morning together, as well as greeted your bare skin as he made love to you, and you etched the feel and taste of his lips into your memory. Ernst kissed you back, setting his phone down to clutch your face, and you touched your forehead to his. “I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too.”

Ernst Schmidt watched the video fizzle out, and the screen in front of him said “END OF VIDEO FILE”. He bit his tongue and drank in the perfect way your laugh warmed his cold chest, and he quickly turned the screen off. He watched the video every single day and tried to imagine what you were doing back on Earth at that moment; realistically, you were at work, at your job as a schoolteacher in his home of Berlin. You taught young children about science-- nothing really specialized, as it was for that age-- but every single call he had with you, you always told him how thrilled your students were that you were married to an astronaut. Schmidt made promises to call in and talk to your class, but he always bailed. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you with the children.

You and Schmidt didn’t fight a lot, but that was perhaps the biggest and longest-running fight that you had: children. Ever since he had met you, in an undergraduate physics class, you had always gushed about how you wanted children. “Two of them,” you had said. “A boy and a girl. One of each.” Schmidt, though, had always been steadfast that he did not want children. They were loud and expensive, and it wasn’t necessarily selfishness, but he just couldn’t see himself as a father. He never had and, even though your pleading was tempting at times, he always returned to his original response: I’ll think about it. Which, to the German physicist, meant no.

“Schmidt to X-Deck,” came Kiel’s voice through the comm on his wrist, and Schmidt moved his glasses from his eyes to wipe his face dry. He always cried when he watched that video of you. “Schmidt, you’re needed up here.”

Schmidt sighed. “Can I have five minutes?” he asked, lifting his wrist to his mouth to speak clearly into the comm.

“No!” came Volkov’s voice. “We need you now. Get off your dumb ass and get up here.”

Schmidt tried to clean himself up as he made his way to the tech deck, where the rest of the crew was waiting. He must have lost track of time. He only meant to go to his quarters and regroup after a tussle with Volkov before the next firing, but, as often happened, he got to watching the videos of his wife that he had saved, and time ceased to mean anything.

“Where the hell were you?” Kiel asked when Schmidt came into the large room. The window in front of the crew showed a beautiful, sparkling Earth, and Schmidt took a quick moment to admire it. Somewhere down there, you were drinking your coffee and getting ready for a day at school. The six months had turned into two years, and he was terrified of what he would return to. Yes, you would still be you, but a lot can change in two years.

“None of your business,” Schmidt replied. “Let’s get this started, huh?”

He took up his position next to Tam, the young Chinese woman that he had come to admire for her brains and quick wit, and she gave him a quick smile. She was the only crew member aboard the Shepard who knew of his life back home, but she had promised not to tell. Schmidt didn’t want the others to know of you, of his weakness; most of them already had ill will towards him, and he didn’t want to give them anything that they could throw back in his face.

When the Shepard whirred to life and the screens and monitors all showed success on a grand scale, Schmidt sighed. Finally. After two years of heartache, longing, and sorrow, they had succeeded. From there, it was only just a matter of time-- maybe days, perhaps-- before he was back home. He imagined the call he would give you, the smile that would grow on your beautiful face when he told you he was coming home. He could already taste the words that would come from his mouth: “I’m coming home, starling. And I want a baby.” He didn’t want to wait anymore. The twenty-four months, the some odd 600 days in space, had made him reexamine what he wanted from life, and he went to sleep at the end of every day with the image of you, barefoot and pregnant, in his mind.

That was what he thought of when the glass behind him shattered, and he was thrown to the ground. His head hit the metal floor and he heard a faint crack, and his vision went blurry as he tasted metal in his mouth. The ship whirred and screeched, louder than anything he had ever heard before, louder than the thrusters when they had first taken off, and he clapped his hands over his ears. That did little to dull the noise, and he felt himself going lightheaded. Before his vision went black and everything around him stilled, he heard your voice, gentle and sweet, call to him: “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

When Schmidt came to, he was confused. Everyone seemed to be in that state. Tam was nursing a nosebleed, Kiel was bent over in his chair and clutching his stomach, Mundy was sitting quiet and still, which was quite a feat for the Irishman. He was sitting in a chair in the recreation deck, and apparently had been sitting there for some time. He couldn’t remember how or when he got there, and he looked around at the room. Everything felt right, but utterly wrong. It was the same feeling of paranoia where everything felt like it was two inches to the right of where it should be. The little sign was still on the food dispenser, Hamilton’s neat scrawl declaring the machine to be The Worst Bagel Machine Ever. The foosball table was still there, the little plastic ball stuck in the middle of the field as it always was.

But the players were yellow. Schmidt blinked a few times, sure that he was seeing things, but there it was. He knew that the little players on the foosball table were painted red and blue; Mundy had made a joke about the players being French. He remembered that. But now, the little players were painted blue and yellow.

He felt dizzy, and panic was taking a hold on his chest. “Hamilton,” he said, powering through a dry and cracked throat. “Do we have any communication with Earth?”

Ava Hamilton shook her head. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You look pale.”

“Jesus, yeah,” Kiel mumbled. “You don’t look too sharp there, Schmidt.”

“If you’re gonna be sick, do it away from me,” Mundy said. “You get sick, I get sick, it’ll be bad...”

“I need to call someone,” Schmidt said. His vision was spotty, and he could only think about you. His breath came in short gasps, and he said, “I need to call her--”

“Who are you talking about?” Ava asked. “Schmidt, we don’t have any communication with Earth. You can’t call anybody.”

“No,” Schmidt said. “No, I need to call her-- I need to know she’s okay--”

“Who is she?” Kiel asked. “Your sister or someone?”

Schmidt cast his crazed glance down to his comm, and, with a shaking hand, he began to swipe through the gallery of photos. The pictures were displayed onto a screen opposite the group, and everybody went silent at the sight of you. Picture after picture of you smiling and laughing, your golden wedding ring glittering. “My wife,” he mumbled. “I-- She-- I was supposed to call her today. I was supposed to talk to her class today--”

“You’re married?” Volkov said. “Wait, wait, you? But what about Tam?”

“Y/N...” Schmidt mumbled, disregarding Volkov, as he usually did. “But she-- I told Y/N I’d call her--”

And then, Schmidt’s heart nearly screeched to a halt. His finger stopped swiping, and he slowly worked himself to his feet. This picture. He had never seen it before. And yet he was in it. He saw himself sitting next to you, smiling and pressing his nose to your neck, his hand on your belly. Your pregnant belly. The picture seemed to be one that would have been used in a pregnancy announcement, and he felt tears slip from his eyes down his cheeks as he pressed his hand to the screen. The corner of the picture was dated two years ago, just a few weeks shy of his departure, and he felt acidic hatred pop in his mouth.

“Who did this?” he spat, turning on his heel to face the crew. “What sort of sick fucking game is this? Volkov, did you--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Volkov asked. “None of us knew you were married until right now, or that you had a kid--”

“I don’t!” Schmidt cried. “I don’t have a child! Y/N begged for years to have a baby but I-- I never wanted one... Who did this? How did you create an image like this, I--”

There was a chime from Schmidt’s comm, and he turned his attention back to it quickly. He knew that the others were speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear them. On the screen, there was an alert that read “APRIL 24, 2026, 12:36AM”, but nothing of importance on that date came to mind. Exactly two years ago; what had happened that would warrant an alarm?

“Schmidt,” came Hamilton’s voice, soft and calm beside him, and he turned to see her. “Do you know what this is for?”

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I-I, my wife was never pregnant. The figurines on the foosball table were never yellow. And--!” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair when he finally turned his focus to The Worst Bagel Machine Ever, only to find the scrawl to be his and not Hamilton’s, and for it to be declared The Worst Muffin Machine Ever. “This! I never wrote that! What the fuck is going on?”

“The Paradox,” Monk whispered. His alert eyes struck upwards, seemingly examining the molecules in the air, and he said, “That’s it.”

“What?” Schmidt asked.

“You weren’t on the X-Deck when we were listening to the newscast,” Monk said. “But there was somebody there, talking about a paradox that could happen if the Shepard misfired. We… We switched dimensions somehow, to a dimension where everything is just a bit wrong.”

At this, everybody went to their own comms to find the small inconsistencies in the dimension they found themselves in, and Schmidt did the same. The next few pictures on the scroll were screencaps that he must have taken while calling you-- or rather, the Schmidt from this dimension had taken of his wife. But you were the same. Same smile, same messy hairstyle. The only difference, of course, was your belly straining at your shirt. You had never looked more beautiful than in those pictures, and the very thought that you existed somewhere on this strange Earth, waiting for him to come home, caring for his child, hurt more than anything.

The pieces and timing fell together in his head. The pregnancy announcement was several weeks before he left, which meant that you would have given birth while he was on the Shepard. The timing was right.

“He’s two,” Schmidt whispered.

“Who?” Hamilton asked. On her own comm was a silent video of her two children and husband, and she had tears in her eyes.

“My son,” Schmidt whispered. “That’s the alarm. Today’s his birthday. He... He’s two.”

With that, he turned back to his comm and went in search of videos of any kind. His favorite was there at the beginning of the scroll, you drinking coffee and laughing, but you were pregnant there. You were likely drinking tea, then, and not coffee. Another small difference that made the world that much harder to digest. At the very end, the most recent, the video was dated April 23, 2026, 10:14PM.

“Hi, Ernie,” you said in the video. You wore no makeup, your hair tied up, and you sighed heavily. “Just letting you know that labor’s moving along pretty quickly. The doctors think that Isaac’ll be here within the next hour or so. I can’t wait for you to meet him. I’ll call you once he’s here, but you have to pick up. I know you’re probably asleep, but your son’s birth takes precedence.” You paused to laugh, and Schmidt watched one of his tears splash across the screen of his comm. “I love you. Answer my call!”

No videos after that. He went to his call history, and found every call from the last two years to be with Huntsville. Not a single one with you. Finally, he came across one with an ID that he didn’t recognize, and he clicked playback.

“Dr. Schmidt?” came a man’s voice, broadcasting over the speakers in the room. Everyone’s heads popped up at the sound of it, but Schmidt didn’t notice; he could hardly see through his tears. He hung his head and buried his face in his hands.

“This is he.” Schmidt bristled at the sound of his own voice, and Hamilton placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Who is this?”

“This is Dr. Kelly, from the Berlin Medical Center,” the man said. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes!” Schmidt’s voice chriped. “Yes! Is this about Y/N and Isaac? Is he here?” Distantly, Schmidt heard himself yell something akin to “I’m a dad!”, and a chorus of muffled cheers from the crew came.

Dr. Kelly sighed, and Schmidt’s tears rolled in hot rivers down his face. “Dr. Schmidt,” he said. “I… This isn’t easy, and certainly not the most ideal circumstances, but… There were complications.”

Silence. Heavy and awful.Then: “What sort of complications? Are they okay?”

“Your son was born with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck,” Dr. Kelly said. “He wasn’t receiving sufficient oxygen, and… I’m sorry, Ernst.”

Schmidt heard himself draw in a shaking breath, and he said, “My son’s dead?”

Hamilton moved to turn off the playback of the call, but Schmidt shifted away from her. He needed to hear it. He didn’t care if everyone else heard it. He needed to hear this man, the doctor that was supposed to protect you, tell you that in this wretched dimension, his son had died. “I’m sorry, Ernst,” Dr. Kelly said again.

“And… And Y/N?”

The silence was answer enough, and Schmidt heard himself begin to cry. “She lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Kelly began. “Ernst, I’m so sorry. We did all that we could--”

The call cut out without warning. Schmidt was shaking where he sat, adrenaline and anger and sadness coursing through his entire body. Two years ago, he had lost you and his son. That was the alarm. Two years, to the minute, since he had lost his family. “Ernst,” he heard Tam say. She said something to him in Mandarin, but he could hardly understand the thoughts in his own head, let alone anybody else’s.

“We need to get home. We need to get home now.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

What Are Friends For || Morgan & Lydia

After Morgan accidentally strikes a bargain with Lydia, she is invited over to make good on her word. What are friends for, after all? 

@inspirationdivine

Morgan was eager to make a better impression on Lydia than she had at the beach. She brought one of the few bottles of wine she hadn’t wrecked in the house, assuming that whatever was good enough for Deirdre’s luxuriant tastes would suit Lydia as well. She put on a bright floral dress that was hanging in the closet from her old things, too attention-seeking with its sweetheart bust and bright pink belt to do for her everyday ‘don’t look at me I’m dead and depressed’ chic. Which meant it was clean and, mostly, unwrinkled. She did her hair. She checked herself, however self-consciously before the door to the rather intimidatingly large house. When Lydia answered the door, Morgan held out her gift bag automatically. “I brought this for you!” If she had any blood flow to her face she would have blushed. No hi? No how are you? Seriously? “It’s good see you,” she tried. “I thought you’d like this. And, um, there’s a rose quartz plate. I don’t know if you like it, but it is one of the nicer things I made.” It was part of an unfinished commission the buyer only wanted a refund for, but even Morgan wasn’t so frazzled as to mention that.

Lydia smiled as she opened the door, humans kept busy upstairs so as to not disturb them. Almost immediately Morgan was pushing a gift bag into her hands, which Lydia peaked into curiously. “Thank you, darling, it’s good to see you too,” she stepped aside, leading Morgan into the kitchen of her home. Large windows filled the room with spring skies, and a view over her garden. “Look at that, you did put on your Sunday best after all. You look good.”

Morgan stepped carefully into the house, minding not to scuff the tile as she walked in. Windows lined every wall that wasn’t adorned with bright paintings or strange sculptures that seemed to draw Morgan towards them. It put her in mind of an art gallery, or a home in a movie: some mysterious billionaire with a shark tank in the basement. “Have you collected all of this in only four months?” She asked, staring wide-eyed around her. So entranced and distracted, she nearly tripped on her way to the kitchen. “I did!” She said, summoning as much brightness as she had in her. Not much, but enough to sound pleasant. “I like to think I clean up good. Your home is amazing,” she said. “Almost like a museum.”

“No, I’ve had much of it for years. Every time I move, I choose my favourite pieces to bring to the new residence. I change it reasonably frequently.” Lydia looked around, smiling at her collection. For each piece, she could name the Leanan who had inspired it. Some of them distant friends or siblings that Lydia could see in the art itself. Either directly, the planes of their chests carefully etched into wood, or in the colour pallettes of the beautiful baroque scenery. “You do clean up well. I also hope this means you feel the slightest bit better relative to the last time we met.”

“Oh. Sh--stars,” Morgan corrected herself quickly. “It really is like a museum. That’s incredible. And when you say years, do you mean--” She hesitated, wondering if it was impolite to ask about age. Morgan didn’t even know what kind of fae Lydia was. If she was a banshee, she would have more skulls, right? And Deirdre wouldn’t be so lonely. She probably wasn’t like Jeff, Morgan would have noticed that too. “Well, just how many, I guess, if that’s polite to ask.” But, in case that wasn’t-- “I am feeling better, though. Thank you for asking. Still not, you know,” she fidgeted on the counter, “Kickin’ that well. But, better than last time. Haven’t almost drowned anyone since.”

“I’m over seventy years old, although I haven’t been collecting art for quite that long,” Lydia replied, preening herself under Morgan’s compliments. “Are you an art connoisseur, or do you just enjoy seeing it?” There wasn’t any judgment in her tone, for once. It was simply a question to find out whether they could talk art, or simply enjoy it together. “I would be more concerned if you were suddenly completely fine. Although, if pranks become part of your new lifestyle, that remains a good choice for a prank. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Seventy?” Morgan balked with surprise before she could stop herself. Did this mean she and Deirdre would look this good at seventy? Her mind struggled to go in five different directions at once. “I don’t know if that’s especially old for fae, if your family treats you like a kid about it or not, but at least you don’t seem cynical or tired after all this time,” she said, trying to get back on course. “I’ve, um, I’ve taken a couple courses in art history. Came in handy when I was alive, a little, with curse research and the sacred geometry that goes into alchemy. But mostly I just think it’s pretty. I um...I mostly have a weak spot for anything with a dramatic enough emotional statement. There’s a chapel Rothko designed, in Houston? I would go there to think some times, as a weird treat for myself.” She scanned their surroundings again. The house was so open she could see all the way to the entrance still. “That one,” she pointed, “Is that an original baroque or something in the style?” She gave a hapless smile, this is as far as my knowledge goes, but I’m trying. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having. Or water,” she said, to be polite. At least water had never really tasted like anything in the first place.

“It doesn’t directly translate to either of those. I have a lot of life left to live, but seventy years is no short length of time for anyone.” Lydia replied, smiling. “Why would I become cynical or tired of it? The world has so much to experience and live for.” She sat on a stool by her kitchen table, as Morgan described her education. “Yes, I know the chapel. It’s incredibly beautiful.” Lydia looked down the hall and nodded. “It’s a Reubens. I do love the Baroque style.” She smiled, letting Morgan go from the discussion. “Water it is,” Lydia acquiesced, pouring Morgan a glass. “Now, shall we discuss that little deal of ours?”

“Oh,” Morgan said, chewing on the thought. “I guess, just because…” Life sucks and then you die. And sometimes you come back for even more hurt. She was able to think better of the statement and after a few moments of mouthing awkwardly in silence, “Humans do. Get cynical and tired. It doesn’t even take seventy years for most of them. I used to get crap for not being more...bitter, cautious, whatever. I was tired a lot, but maybe energy is different for fae.” She didn’t try to flex what little art factoids she had. Lydia was being nice and, fuck it, she’d let her be. Morgan had given her offerings, she made an effort, and despite Lydia’s airs of propriety, there was something about her that invited Morgan to drop her own pretensions and be herself. She gave a smaller, though more sincere smile and nodded gratefully. “Right! I said I’d do something for you. What kind of thing did you have in mind?”

“There are days that are terrible. Sometimes weeks or even years. To let that colour my entire life would be...wasteful.” Lydia replied, but knew it probably wasn’t what Morgan needed to hear right now. Losing another wasn’t the same as losing your own sense of self. Even if Morgan hadn’t lost her life, Lydia understood she currently felt like it. So she smiled, matching Morgan’s. “Yes. This is really… more of a heads up, if you will. I’m sure Deirdre is very careful with these things, with you. But if you’re to date a fae, you need to be aware that not all of us are as sweet as Deirdre or I, and that you might need to watch your words more carefully.” Lydia clasped her hands. “As for what I had in mind. I was thinking a small painting. I can offer you as much inspiration as you like. I don’t care if you paint the whole canvas blue, or if you throw the paint at it, or if you take rests. All of that is up to you. You could even take a knife to the canvas, for all I mind. Just create something, for me. That’s all I ask to end the promise.”

“Wait--what?” Morgan sputtered with confusion. She thought that Lydia was kidding. She had to be. A head’s up? “We’re always intentional with our promises, yeah,” Morgan said, straightening with a little pride. Their promises were better than any cheesy ring or one-time declaration any other couple might make. They were their trust, their fidelity, something that could stay true and real, even when Morgan could barely get out of bed. They never had to pull on the thread because they meant what they said. It only existed for something sudden, some hypothetical emergency or some time when the compulsion would be a comfort. What else would promises be good for, besides a proof of trust? Her expression wrinkled, confused and scrutinizing as she waited for some other punchline. Then her body began to ache, her insides burning and twisting. That was...weird. “Uh…” Her stomach tightened, and Morgan clenched her jaw to keep from dry heaving in front of Lydia. “Oh-kay.” She gripped the countertop to keep from doubling over. Was this--something fae let happen on purpose? “Canvas?” She asked, voice strained. “Can you, um, show me where, a-and paint, crayola crayons, whatever? Please?”

“Already set up,” Lydia replied smoothly, stepping over to help Morgan. “Darling, there’s no rush.” That would at least ease the ache that had Morgan keeling over, her jaw tight. Lydia tried to feel bad about it. She really did. It was the fae in her, that couldn’t stand to avoid taking advantage of such things. Perhaps it was a bit of a compulsion. She would have done it to anyone, really, and would expect it in return.  “Come along here, and I’ll bring you something you can really taste.” Lydia lead Morgan to a pre-set up canvas and paints. It was a small canvas, A4 sized. If Morgan wanted to, she could cover the whole thing in a couple minutes flat. “There you go. As I said, darling, no rush, take the rests you want, paint what you like.”

Morgan’s insides unclenched at Lydia’s words. She let out a deep gasp, bracing herself again, just so she didn’t go to the floor in relief. She looked up at Lydia, bewildered by how quickly this had turned around into something...not at all like what she shared with Deirdre. Was this the ‘heads up’? The lesson she was supposed to get out of this. “T-thank you,” she said quietly, averting her gaze. She followed her at a distance, still feeling a little clammy, or maybe just shaken. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she asked the universe to help her feel again. She looked between Lydia and the canvas and back again. It was all...waiting for her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Okay. What I like. I can do that.” She tried to smile again, but she was too shaken to feel at ease just yet.

She lifted a drafting pencil and began to sketch out the bones of...whatever this was going to be. Why was this so hard? Of course she liked things. Morgan sectioned off the canvas for a close up landscape and set aside a circle for what she wanted to put in it. She had started on a base coat (she remembered that much from the extra curricular lectures she’d attended) when she worked up the nerve to ask, “So, can I ask--? When you say that other fae are not as sweet, do you mean...that they do this on purpose? For...what, exactly? I just...would like to understand better.”

“I mean that the kind of promise you made could be used for something much crueler than a simple painting.” Lydia sat down a few feet away from Morgan, watching her paint the base. She sat back, her wings fading into view as she considered the question.  “We do it in part because it is our culture. To us, there is little more valuable than our word. That everyone else gives it so thoughtlessly is infuriating. There should be consequences for such things.”  She turned her gaze back to Morgan. “When I was attacked by that vampire, when I was done being terrified, I was enraged. Not just because he’d turned me into a toy, or because he’d tried to kill me. What made me most angry was that we’d made a deal, and he went right against it. That made me more angry than the manner by which he did it.” Lydia shook her head to clear her mind. “I suppose though, perhaps what I want to warn you of, is that many fae don’t like other fae to date other species at all. That a commitment like the one you made to me could have been used to end the relationship between the two of you.”

Morgan could understand, a little, what it must be like to see everyone take for granted what was so essential to you. She still hadn’t been by to see the coven despite saying that she would, she needed to. It was too painful, too infuriating, to witness magic as if it were a matter of course when her power had died in the street with her heartbeat. She switched to a different brush and began to cover the canvas in blue before taking up another and layering a wide swath of green over it for grass. It was more of a clumsy child’s dreamscape than the spot in the woods by the river she had hoped to represent, but Lydia hadn’t asked her for the artistic value of her work. She paused, turning solemn as Lydia recounted the worst parts of her story to her. Morgan shook her head with dismay. “Vampires are the fucking worst,” she grumbled quietly. Then, with a little more poise she said louder, “He should never have done that. He should have to pay, pay to someone for being cruel in that way. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

At the suggestion that Morgan could be promise-tricked into deserting Deirdre, she put her brush down. “They might hate me, for being with her. I’m aware of that much,” she said solemnly. “But...we promised each other first. All she ever has to do is ask for me to come to her, and I will. Wherever she is, whatever else happens between us. Doesn’t that promise matter too?” They were careful. They still didn’t go shouting from the rooftops that they were together. But if fae could sense each other, it would only take one outing down the wrong street, bumping into the wrong person, for them to guess. “How do I keep that from happening?” She asked. “I didn’t...I was being sincere, Lydia, when I spoke to you about doing something. I just didn’t understand that it was possible to bind yourself without the word ‘promise.’” She picked up her brush again, sighing with dismay as more troubled thoughts floated and circled her brain. “I’m sorry for that too I guess.”

“He will. He made a deal, and now he will pay for it. As he should,” Lydia replied, sneering, before pushing the mysterious vampire out of her mind and out the conversation. Morgan had much more interesting things to say. “You made a promise to Deirdre that you would stay in a relationship with her?” Lydia asked. Deirdre could do Deirdre but… how completely bizarre. She’d have to ask Deirdre about it sometime.  “Yes, any such promise has incredible value. There is a separate danger there. When an unstoppable force hits an immovable object, what breaks? Usually, the person who has made two opposing unbreakable promises.” It was rather gruesome, really. It was horrifying. Lydia had seen it happen to a couple humans, but had once seen it happen to a gancanagh she knew, barely eighteen years old. The whole fae population had gone into mourning over it. “You watch your words, carefully. Any time you commit to something, any time you indicate a favour owed. It takes practice. That’s why I wanted you to learn this now.” Lydia leant forward, her eyes softer than the situation should suggest. “I appreciate your apology, darling. I don’t doubt your good nature.”

“Oh, no, that’s--” Morgan couldn’t help but scoff darkly. “That’s definitely not what happened. Not that I would ever fuck with our agency like that in the first place, but Deirdre--” Deirdre had been more livid, more hurt than Morgan had ever seen her before, or since. Everything was vanishing behind one locked door after another. Morgan, with her cursed track record, had feared the worst. All because of some stupid words she hadn’t understood. Morgan couldn’t bring herself to explain the horrible details, the guilt of having caused that kind of hurt still haunted her mind. It rose up, prickling her peace like needles whenever things grew tense between her and Deirdre, and when they were so light and calm, they seemed too good to last. But the unpleasantness of that day in the woods was clear on her face as she stared into the distance before resuming her painting. “She would’ve released me in two seconds if that had been what I was trying. We weren’t in a good place, when I gave her that promise. But I wanted…” What she had really wanted was for all the badness to stop. And for Deirdre to not give up on her own humanity just because Morgan had wounded her by mistake. But Morgan did not know how to tell Lydia any of this, or if she even wanted to.

“I wanted her to know that I would always be there for her,” she said at last. “Even if we never got back to the kind of place we were at before, I would still want to be there for her, if that was something she might...want. Even a little. No relationship conditions, she could have frozen me out for weeks or months, and asked me over for just an hour or a night or a week. When you care about someone enough...when you love them, it shouldn’t matter if you’re in a fight or broken up over some stupid mistake or you haven’t spoken in awhile. If you love them, you want to be there no matter what, as long as they want you to. But that’s hard for people to believe. And not everyone means things like ‘oh, i still wanna be your friend,’ ‘yeah you can still count on me.’ But I meant it. So I gave her a promise. If she ever decided she wanted to see me again, I’d come. She only had to ask for me.”

Morgan began to paint the drop of canvas she’d sectioned off a bright orange. Not at all like the amber fossil kept safely in their bedroom, but close as she could figure from her selections. “We worked things out on our own, eventually. She’s never pulled on that thread, even once. And I’d come without pressing her to take that measure, obviously. But I like knowing it's there. There’s no telling what could happen, and it’s still true, so…” She looked over at Lydia, a little heartened by her softness. She nodded at her words, accepting the gravity of her situation, why she might feel compelled to go to all this trouble. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. You must care about Deirdre a lot, to look out for us.”

Lydia listened. This hadn’t been intended to be a backdoor into Deirdre’s private relationship or private thoughts, but as Morgan explained, Lydia began to relax and ease. Not just because she had for a second believed that Deirdre would have accepted such an ethically questionable promise. She listened attentively as Morgan talked, watching the attention by which Morgan painted. She deliberately wasn’t watching the actual painting, willing it to be a surprise, and to ensure that Morgan wouldn’t feel too imposed on. Beyond the literal imposition, of course. “I’m rather relieved to hear that, I must admit. The alternative would have been alarming. For the both of you.” Lydia settled and rolled her shoulders, stretching wing muscles as she did. “It is still a major commitment, but I’m glad you thought it through with her. I’m glad you were there to help her.” She smiled, softly, at Morgan’s comment. “I do. She’s a wonderful woman. Ultimately, I want her to be happy. Everything else is secondary.”

Morgan painted as best she could, which was, honestly, not very well. She began to add what was meant to be a squirrel picking flowers, caught in the lens of the orange drop, but her inexpert strokes morphed the image into a strange brown blob, almost sinister. “You don’t have to worry about that with me. I love her,” she said simply, setting the brush aside. She stepped back from her work. Not an artistic vision by any means, but it was covered. She gave Lydia a sidelong glance, wincing at just how awful it looked next to the art surrounding her. “I, uh, I tried,” she said. “It’s...well, it’s supposed to be things I like, but you should maybe display it out by the dumpster.”

Love. Morgan had used that word twice now, so that it couldn’t be an accident. Deirdre had said many things, but she had said nothing of love. Lydia looked down to her hands for a moment, at the smooth skin and the burgundy nails she wore today. She wondered if she’d be so kind, if Morgan was still human. She wondered if she would have done this at all, if Morgan never had been. Lydia set those thoughts aside. There was an edge to this kindness, that if asked about, Lydia couldn’t deny. One that perhaps they would forget about in time. Morgan turned the easel, and Lydia raised an eyebrow at the monstrosity that Morgan revealed. “I wouldn’t throw it away, this is a gift. We’ll call it… dadaist modern art, and call it a day. I am very grateful, Morgan. For everything.”

Morgan couldn’t help but notice the silence around her declaration. She wondered if it had to do with her being only recently un-human’d. If she had been dead all along, would Lydia believe her more, would she see it more clearly? Or would it only look right to her with a pair of wings at her back and fae blood in her cold veins? She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself to hide the self-consciousness. Lydia was being kind, but it was the sort of kindness that gritted its teeth against something else. She should probably count herself lucky, she reminded herself, that Lydia was trying at all. That she had, in some spare moments, tried to extend whatever counted as friendship for her kind of fae towards Morgan. “I don’t think I’ve done all that much,” she said, side-eyeing her handiwork again. “But I appreciate you taking this time with me too. I’d like to get to be your friend too. At some point.”

“You made more of an effort than I expected. That has value,” Lydia replied softly. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I think I’d like that too, at some point,” Lydia replied in turn. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not in a month. Perhaps not while Remmy was made to hate themselves for saving Morgan from her curse. Some point, though. It was an easy, commitment to make. “I also think I’ve taken up more than enough of your time, as pleasant as it has been to get to know you better.” She smiled, looking at the painting one more time. “I am truly happy for you and Deirdre. I’m glad you have each other.” I hope it stays that way. Deirdre didn’t need more heartbreak. As Lydia showed Morgan to the door, she thought that Deirdre wasn’t the only one like that, either.

[rhondarma082639]

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[quirksofartstuff]

Searching For The Perfect Mother's Day Gift? Look No Further Than This Handy Quirktacular Guide!

Mom, Mother, Mama-there is not a word we can call the woman that gave us life, took care of us, or took us in that can do justice for what our mothers have done for us. Whether it is a biological mother, adopted mom, grandma, a very special Aunt, a dad that had to act as both, or even a friend that was able to take on that motherly role for you, we all think of someone that means the world to us when we hear that word. Sunday, May 13th (look at that reminder I made sure to include. YOU. ARE. WELCOME!) is the day we in the US celebrate our very special someone, and this year Quirks and The Sideshow have gift ideas to help you find the perfect token of your love, Friends!

We have gone through some of our very favorite Mom gifts in the galleries, and have made a handy dandy list just for you, Dear Friends! These whimsical items range from the classic jewelry to the oh so sweet and beautiful art-all guaranteed to make your Mother over the moon ecstatic that you remember and appreciate all she has done for you since you came into her life and made her world shine a little brighter! AND we even have a code for you when you check out! Don't forget to use quirksblog when checking out for a surprise discount!!

10. "Love Mom" 3' Art Pole by Painted Peace

From artist Stephanie Burgess, who is the first artist to introduce the concept of the art pole, this This 3-foot Art Pole features bold, bright colors and sentimental messaging "All Things Grow From A Mother's Love". It makes a uniquely beautiful addition to any lawn or garden. A Studio M exclusive, Art Poles are an impactful way to bring beautiful artwork to any landscape. Ultra-durable for years of enjoyment, and best of all, there's no digging required!

9. Crown Handbag by Mary Frances

Mary Frances beaded handbags fuse whimsy with elegance, femininity with functionality. Richly embellished with opulent natural stones and trims from all over the world, each piece is handcrafted in intricate detail.

8. Fabulous As Fuck Slouchy Women’s Tee

Screen printed right here in Williamsburg, this subtle and unique tee with The Sideshow’s logo on the nape of the neck, the soft as kittens Fabulous as Fuck Women's Slouchy Tee lets everyone know your Mom is fabulous and she knows it. #momgoals

Don't forget to check out other prints available now at Quirks and The Sideshow stores and websites!

7. Bird Sculptures By Mullanium

Mullanium’s song bird scultures are not only gorgueous and unusual pieces of art, but each one is different because the props are all made from found objects. That does mean each one with vary slightly from the photos, but this also means each gift is 100% unique! Check out this Cardinal, which is especially perfect for the special lady in your life because a cardninal stands for beauty, vibrancy, and nobility-something the ladies of Quirks and Sideshow know an awful lot about!

6.Colorful Bobtanical Art Glass Sculptures by Kliss Glass

Kliss Glass is one of the newest artists to join the Quirks and The Sideshow family! Bob and Laurie Kliss create sculptural blown glass objects with a playful use of color, form, texture, and shape. They take pleasure in each handmade piece they create and strive to enrich the lives of art lovers everywhere, and that includes you, Friends! Like flowers from a fairy tale, this trio has whimsical blossoms sprout from colorful blown glass vessels that are sandblasted and acid etched for a soft, matte finish. Each vessel is dotted with glass cane, and the flower's striped stamen serves as a removable stopper. Signed and dated on bottom. Each is unique, so size and shape will vary slightly.

5. Spicher and Company EB I Love You Mom Sentiments Quotes Framed Print Wall Art

Perfect for any of your mom’s home, office, class room, dining, hospital, restaurant walls, this inspirational Wall art by Spicher and Company will let your favorite mother figure know that you are always thinking of them, and love them with all of your heart. It's also available in multiple sizes!

4. Sticks Wine is Good Lazy Susan

Sticks lazy susans make art functional for your kitchen aid – All printed and made with love in Des Moines, Iowa. This beautiful American Folkart is not only useful, it is perfect for the wine and art loving Mama. This roomy 18-inch lazy susan is a functional conversation piece. Words are etched by hand directly into the 3/4'' thick maple plywood and then hand embellished with paint. Finished with numerous coats of protective semi-gloss finish, so no worry about those wine spills! Note: shipped with wording ''Wine is Good'' in center. This item is available to be personalized, though...just message us with details.

3. Single Diamond Sterling Silver Bangle Bracelet By Rene Escobar Jewelry

Rene Escobar is the namesake jewelry label launched in the early 90s. A family-run label now in its third generation, Rene Escobar's collections bring together artisanal design techniques with precious metals and stones in a collection of jewelry, featuring necklaces, cuffs, earrings and rings.

2. Chickenscratch Cherry Blossom Pin by Lisa and Scott Cylinder

In a time when personal interactions are at a minimum, Chickenscratch jewelry creates a narrative that invites conversations through stories, humor, and clever anecdotes. It is this human aspect that gives the work a warmth that is sometimes nostalgic, often curious, and usually joyful. This playful piece features blackened and green patinated leaf and stem with a nickel silver, felt and a brass flower. A copper worm crawls on the stem, adding that quirky vibe and look that let's everyone know your mom isn't a regular Mom, she's a super cool Mom!

1. Houston Llew "Miracle" Spiritile

Handmade molten glass on copper art collectible, "Miracle" was made by the Houston Llew Studio in Atlanta, GA. The beautiful saying on the side is "When you need a miracle, just look at your child and realize you created one.". It is perfect for a truly heartfelt gift for the Mom you love to spoil, and the artisanship is flawless, and it is practically impossible to choose just one for this list. We managed to do it for you, my dear Friends, but come into Quirks to see even more! Trust us, there is a veritable plethora to choose from!

Which of our picks is your favorite? More importantly, which one will you be getting for your Mom for Mother’s Day (SUNDAY MAY 13TH, DON’T FORGET!) to celebrate how wonderful she is? Tell us in comments, or come on in to Quirks and tell us in person!  As always, don’t forget to follow Quirks on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, and Don't forget to use the code quirksblog when checking out for a surprise discount!!

Check out our sister store The Sideshow, has it’s own Instagram, Facebook, and, of course, website, and we can’t wait to show you how we’ve made the new gallery our very own. Good Shot Judy, one of our favorite bands in the world, will be clowning around for our Grand Opening!

Jenn's newest gallery adventure will not only carry fantastical furnishing and art, but it will also be Colonial Williamsburg's very first "tattoo" parlor! Curious? Join us on Sunday, May 13th at The Sideshow for our first artist trunk show!

Always,

XOXO

[appliances]

Greenline Items Whiskey Glasses - 10 Oz Tumbler Present Set for Houston lovers, Etched with Houston Map | Outdated Long-established Rocks Glass - Set of two

[driversourcetx]

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[autumn2007-blog]

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[etchhouston]

Etch Houston is a full service surface etching company specializing in neon signage, custom glass art & led displays.

[slinginginkcalligraphy]

JNSQ Wine Bottle Engraving - Houston

The wine bottle that I engrave in this video is by JNSQ. This bottle is honestly one of the most beautiful bottles that I have seen along with being an engraver’s dream. The shape of the bottle makes it easy to maneuver for engraving. The near flat & wide surface is incredibly close to the same feel that you would experience with engraving on flat glass. There is not much to it. Cheers!

[perksofwifi]

2014 Chevrolet Corvette Visits Legendary NASA Space Sites – Epic Drives

Ever wanted to drag race a modern Corvette against a classic ’67 427 Big Block side-pipe convertible? We do that and much more in this special Corvette/NASA feature from February 2014—it’s a story you’ll only find on MotorTrend. As NASA marks 50 years since Apollo 11, we’re revisiting this story.

The tourists have no idea who’s walking among them. As the crowds gape at the towering missiles and wedgy capsules on display at Florida’s Kennedy Space Center, about an hour east of Orlando, a trim elder statesman in jeans and a polo shirt gazes unnoticed at a gargantuan, 223-foot-long Saturn 1B booster laid out on its side, its tubular white skin blinding in the morning sunshine, huge exposed rocket nozzles silent but seemingly poised to spew flames at any moment. Suddenly, no doubt intrigued by the trio of video and still cameras focusing on the older man, a 20-something tourist in shorts and flip-flops steps forward with a pen and paper.

“Uh, can I have your autograph?” he asks politely.

“Well, sure,” says man in the polo. “What’s your name?”

“Harold.”

The older man signs the paper, passes it back, shakes the tourist’s hand. The kid can’t believe his luck. “I always wanted to meet a real astronaut. Thanks so much, Mr. Collins!” And with that he practically skips away.

The man turns to me, his tanned face etched with time but bearing a tautness that belies his 81 years, and we burst out laughing. No, we haven’t pulled a fast one — the autograph-signer is indeed a bona fide astronaut, one of just 30 selected in the early 1960s to join the glory days of NASA’s moon program. But he isn’t Michael Collins from Apollo 11. He’s Walt Cunningham, who in October 1968 joined commander Wally Schirra and crewmate Don Eisele to fly the crucial first manned Apollo mission, Apollo 7.

“Happens all the time!” Cunningham says with a grin. “Usually they think I’m Scott Carpenter. Or they ask, ‘Did you ever meet Neil Armstrong?'”

We share another good laugh. But make no mistake: I’m just as awed to be in Cunningham’s presence as the confused autograph hound. After all, when I was a boy in the ’60s, NASA kept me busier than Ham the space chimp. I watched every rocket launch and splashdown live on our battered old black-and-white Zenith. I clipped newspaper and Life magazine articles on my NASA heroes. I built models of Gemini capsules and Saturn rockets and lunar modules and dreamed of someday boarding one myself. If you’d have told me then, “Four decades from now, you’re going to spend a week driving across the country with an Apollo astronaut,” I’d have choked on my Pillsbury Space Food Stick and dropped my glass of Tang. “Oh, sure,” I’d have replied. “And I suppose one day I’ll take pictures with my phone.”

Of course, Cunningham hasn’t flown all the way out here from his home in Houston just to wax nostalgic on his old stomping grounds. I lured him with bait. Like most of his rocket-jockey colleagues from the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo days, Cunningham has long been a Corvette man. He’s owned several, plus other sports cars including Porsches, a Ferrari 246, and an Acura NSX, and still drives a 2005 C6 — manual transmission, thank you. So when I rang him up and mentioned, “I’ve got a brand-new 2014 C7 ‘Vette…gonna drive it from KSC in Florida to Johnson Space Center in Texas for our online show ‘Epic Drives,'” Walt took all of three seconds before replying, “Hope you like riding in the passenger seat.”

Before we head to the car, Walt and I take the rest of the day to explore KSC. Visiting a NASA site in the company of an Apollo astronaut is like touring the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with Mick Jagger. Every locked door opens wide. First we take some time to examine the huge Saturn 1B. The rocket holds a special significance for Walt, as he, Schirra, and Eisele rode one just like it into Earth’s orbit for an 11-day shakedown of the then-untested command module (Apollos 8 through 17 used the even larger Saturn V). “In those days, I just took it for granted,” Walt says as he takes in the 1B’s imposing flanks. “I was gonna fly whatever vehicle was out there. But now I come back and can really appreciate the significance of it. It’s impressive.”

Next we venture over to launch complex 39A, ground zero for Apollo 11 and most of the other moon missions, and many shuttle launches. Apollo 7 actually lifted off from pad 34, but today that complex is off-limits because of a nearby countdown for a SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket. (Pad 34 was also the site of a devastating 1967 fire that killed Apollo 1 astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee.) But just being near any pad brings back launch-day memories for Cunningham. “When you got out here and strapped in, you had a pretty good feeling you were actually going to go,” he says. “My whole career as a Marine fighter pilot and years of astronaut training were finally paying off with an actual space launch.”

As we drive away from the pad, we’re hit by an incredible stroke of luck: Running along its huge gravel tracks is one of NASA’s crawler-transporters, the 6-million-pound, diesel-powered, tank-treaded rigs that carried the completed moon rockets to the launchpad. The crawlers rarely leave their parking spaces unless they’re needed for a mission, and even Walt has never seen one in action before. As the beast rolls by at a stately 1 mph, both of us are overwhelmed by sheer mechanized wonder. Given that NASA built only two of the things, there’s a 50 percent chance that this is the one that carried Walt’s Apollo 7 rocket to its pad back in 1968.

The Vertical Assembly Building (VAB) is the largest single-story building in the world. It towers above the surrounding marsh of the Space Center, visible for miles in any direction. Inside, technicians assembled the various rocket stages of the Saturn moonships (and, later, the space shuttles) upright. Even today, when it’s completely empty, it’s a majestic space, breathtaking in scope. It’s said that on particularly humid days, rain clouds form near the ceiling. (The VAB is so immense — 526 feet high, almost 130 million cubic feet of area — that it contains its own micro-climate.) Even during the runup to his flight, though, Walt never spent much time in here. “I was too busy training,” he says. “I trusted the rocket guys to do their thing while I did mine.”

The next morning, we begin a long drive to our next stop, New Orleans. Walt happily takes the wheel of the C7, and right away he’s smitten. “Wow, it’s just so tight, so quiet,” he gushes. “Way more solid than my C6. They’ve improved the cockpit a ton, too. And the power…just fabulous. Even though I’m a die-hard fan of manuals, I like the paddle-shift automatic a lot.” Walt looks over at me and smiles. “You know, I may just have to get one of these.”

For NASA devotees, New Orleans means more than scrumptious powder-sugared beignets and the uninhibited diversions of Bourbon Street. The city is also home to the Michoud Assembly Facility, where in the 1960s and early ’70s technicians crafted the enormous first stages of the Saturn 1B and Saturn V boosters. Thanks to a friend who owns a boat, Walt and I zip across Lake Pontchartrain to visit the back entrance of Michoud. “This is where they’d load the rocket stages onto barges to be shipped via inland waterways to Cocoa Beach,” Walt says.

I rise early the next day and slip off via Corvette to visit Michoud’s front gate. There, in all its gravity-defying glory, lies an original Saturn V first stage — a piece originally intended for the Apollo 20 moon mission, which was later canceled. The years have done nothing to diminish the majesty of this machine, the main stage of the most powerful rocket ever successfully deployed. With the whistling wind the only sound, the nearby C7 ‘Vette almost seems to whisper to the aging Saturn: “C’mon, guy. We’re Americans. We can still do this.”

Johnson Space Center in Houston lies 350 miles west of New Orleans, but before Walt and I turn into the home of Mission Control, we detour to visit my Texas friends Bruce Shuman and Danny Reed, each of whom owns vintage ‘Vettes to die for. Danny drives the ultimate prize: the so-called “AstroVette,” a ’69 427 coupe once owned by Apollo 12 lunar module pilot Alan Bean, the fourth human to walk on the moon. All three Apollo 12 crewmembers — including commander Pete Conrad and command-module pilot Dick Gordon — had matching ‘Vettes painted in black over gold. Reed found this one all but abandoned on a GM auction lot in 1971, and has owned it ever since. Today, it’s the only one of the Apollo 12 AstroVettes that remains. It’s probably worth, oh, north of $2 million.

Schuman’s collection would be the envy of any Corvette buff. Among his cherry toys: a ’61 283 convertible, a ’63 split-window coupe, and “The Beast” — a ’67 427 Big Block side pipe convertible rated at 435 hp but probably making well over 500. “Hey, Bruce,” I say. “I’ve booked some runway time tomorrow at Ellington Air Force Base. How’d you like to drag race your Big Block against my C7?”

Bruce is all over the idea. “I think that could be arranged!”

The next morning, on a closed 8000-foot runway at Ellington, I line up my C7 against the rip-snorting ’67 Big Block. At the wheel of the vintage Chevy is the only man Bruce trusts with his cars: Ray Repczynski, perhaps the finest Corvette wrench in the country. Our walkie-talkies crackle with the famous “3…2…1…Liftoff!” and away we go. But it’s no contest. Ray may be an expert driver with more than 500 horses under his right foot, but he’s got skinny ’60s-era tires, a tricky clutch, and a suspension that wanders all over the grooved pavement. The C7, in contrast, is simply effortless: Just mash the pedal, flick the paddle shifters, and I’m gone in a cloud of tire smoke and a flash of screaming yellow paint. The 2014 ‘Vette wins by a mile.

Our day at Ellington offers one additional perk: I get a chance to take Walt’s lovely wife, Dot, for a quick blast in the C7. In seconds, we’re hurtling down the runway at 158 mph — and Dot is all smiles and giggles. “So, do you think Walt should buy one of these?” I ask.

“Are you kidding?” Dot says with a laugh. “This car is great! I want him to buy one!” (Hear that, Walt? You owe me!) The sights within Johnson Space Center will leave the most jaded tech geek awestruck. Inside the huge Building 9, for instance, lie full-size mockups of the International Space Station, the Orion capsule (a planned follow-up to Apollo), various experimental robots, and a space shuttle systems trainer. “In my day, the command module was considered pretty complicated,” Walt says as he pores over the dizzying array of buttons and controls on the shuttle flight deck. “We had 1800 switches we had to know how to control — seemed like a lot. But you can see that this is much bigger!”

About 20 minutes outside of JSC is the Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory, a 6.2-million-gallon swimming pool that houses actual-size pieces of the International Space Station. With its lake-size tank, giant video displays, and cool spaceship mockups, the place looks like a set for a James Bond flick. By working underwater, astronauts in full space suits can simulate the weightlessness of space — invaluable training for the extra-vehicular activities (space walks) common for ISS astronauts. “Of course, in my day we didn’t have anything like this,” Walt says. “We did a little scuba in a hotel swimming pool!”

For sheer historical significance, nothing tops the beating heart of JSC: the original Mission Control Center. It was in this drab, theater-like room, with its banks of green desk monitors, cheerless government carpet, and no outside windows, that some of the grandest moments in the history of American exploration played out. When Neil Armstrong radioed, “Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed,” his voice reached this desk, where CapCom Charlie Duke responded, “We copy you down, Eagle.”

When Apollo 13 commander Jim Lovell radioed his calm but urgent, “Houston, we’ve had a problem,” it was flight director Gene Kranz, sitting right here, who stirred his team into action to save the crew. I swear I can smell the stale coffee, the cigarettes, the sweat still hanging in the air, the room now a National Historic Landmark. Walt and I are rendered silent just being in this hallowed chamber. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve got tears in my eyes.

Later that afternoon, Walt bids farewell to the Corvette, but not before rendering his verdict. “Honestly, I can’t think of a single negative thing to say about the C7. It’s kinda like my life: We’ve both evolved over the years.”

Before Walt heads for home, we stop off at an indoor display housing a restored, original Saturn V rocket — all 363 horizontal feet of it. Along one wall are pictures and bios of all of the crews of Apollo — most of them friends of Walt’s, many of them now gone, including both of his Apollo 7 crewmates. Walt surveys the pictures in silence, his mind no doubt flooding with memories of those heady days of the space race, when it seemed as if nothing was impossible in the United States — at least not for these can-do NASA rock stars.

You could forgive a man in Walt’s position — one of a mere handful of Americans to fly on mankind’s greatest-ever adventure — to be a little full of himself, perhaps even downright arrogant and entitled. But that’s not Walt. Not at all. As he gazes at the pictures of his own Apollo 7 crew, suddenly he stops, turns to me. “You know what strikes me most being in here with this rocket, looking at these old photographs of all of us?” he says. “How lucky we all were. How lucky to have the right skills in the right place at exactly the right time in history. I still pinch myself that I got to fly in space.” He smiles. “Not too bad for a former Marine from Iowa!”

My Other Car Is a Lunar Rover

It’s easy to see how the Corvette came to be the car of choice for NASA’s astronauts. Space enthusiast and Melbourne, Florida, Chevy dealer Jim Rathmann (a former Indy 500 winner) knew putting the astronauts behind the wheel of the brand’s cars would make for priceless publicity in the space-crazed ’60s, so he easily convinced GM senior executive Ed Cole to arrange special $1-a-year leases for his new rocket buddies. Of the first group of astronauts, the “Original Seven,” six opted for Corvettes; only John Glenn chose a more practical station wagon. (The first American in space, Alan Shepard, had owned his own ’57 as a test pilot and, after his 1961 spaceflight, was given a new ’62 by Cole. He owned 10 ’Vettes in his lifetime.) Walt Cunningham snapped up several ’Vettes during his astronaut career, as did the “AstroVette”-owning Apollo 12 crew. The Apollo 15 team — commander Dave Scott, Al Worden, and Jim Irwin — had a trio of Corvettes in red, white, and blue with American-flag-inspired racing stripes. A 1971 photo shows them posing with their cars behind a mockup of the vehicle they planned to drive on the moon — also built by GM. You could almost imagine the bumper stickers on their in-your-face ’Vettes: “My Other Car Is a Lunar Rover.” Lucky bastards.

Flight of the Phoenix

Within 15 seconds on January 27, 1967, the U.S. space program changed forever. An exposed wire sparked in the pure-oxygen environment of the Apollo 1 command module, at the time undergoing a routine “plugs out” test on the launchpad. In seconds, fire swept through the cabin. The crew tried desperately to open the complicated hatch—which in the best of conditions required 90 seconds to unlock, including assistance from the outside. Seconds later, all three — commander Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee — were asphyxiated. With them nearly died the entire Apollo moon shot.

Yet the deaths of the Apollo 1 crew may have saved the program, and certainly contributed to NASA successfully meeting President John F. Kennedy’s pledge of “landing a man on the moon before this decade is out.” NASA aggressively examined every detail of the charred Apollo 1 capsule. Astronauts and contractors worked tirelessly to correct its myriad faults and design flaws, and by October 1968, a completely redesigned Block II command module was ready to fly.

Walt Cunningham, along with commander Wally Schirra and Don Eisele, was assigned to fly this crucial new first flight of Apollo. And their mission, 11 days in Earth orbit, was an unqualified success. In fact, it was almost too perfect. Commander Schirra, suffering from a bad head cold and determined not to let “annoying” scientific experiments get in the way of a flawless test flight, all but committed mutiny — he flat refused numerous requests from Mission Control to perform anything but the most essential of flight-related tasks. The experienced Schirra was retiring from NASA after the flight anyway, but his actions all but doomed the future careers of rookies Eisele and Cunningham. Neither flew again.

In his superb memoir, “The All-American Boys,” Walt is kind to Schirra, implying that his commander made tough but correct calls. But when I ask Walt, “Schirra kind of screwed you guys, didn’t he?” Walt gently smiles and nods his head.

“In retrospect, I was too forgiving of him. I probably would’ve flown on SkyLab, but the guys upstairs still had a bad taste in their mouths from Apollo 7. That said, I do understand where Wally was coming from. After the Apollo 1 fire, he just wanted Apollo 7 to be perfect. All things considered, I was happy to be a part of that.”

Signed copies of Walt’s book, “The All-American Boys,” are available at www.waltercunningham.com

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[junker-town]

Good luck scoring on Kawhi Leonard and Paul George

We haven’t seen a wing combination that can put the clamps on defenses like this in a long, long time.

With Paul George and Kawhi Leonard, the Los Angeles Clippers have added two of the NBA’s seven best players, a pair of perennial MVP candidates who are smack dab in the middle of their primes with more room to improve. They directly and indirectly complement each other in obvious ways, and after spending most of their careers in winning situations alongside fellow megastars, they have a natural synergy that’s born from being familiar with sacrifice and accepting it.

Both possess skill-sets designed to be lead dogs on their own teams – each finished in the 97th percentile in usage percentage last season, per Cleaning the Glass – but it’s not hard to see how they peacefully coexist. They aren’t known as playmakers, but both can comfortably navigate through any possession, on or off the ball, in ways that force a defense to account for every step. When they share the court, they’ll loosen the floor for each other by keeping the other team off balanced. When they instead star as the solo act alongside a crew of sensible role players, they should have a fun time mowing through bench units with an assurance that whenever they need to rest, a proven system can step in to remove pressure from their shoulders. Los Angeles’s offense is in terrific hands.

But it’s the other side of the ball where the Clippers can flex in ways that not only separate them from every other team in the league, but arguably every other team of the last 20 years. We haven’t seen a defensive duo this potent since Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen turned basketball courts into lonely, vulnerable prairies.

When healthy and unbothered by the responsibilities that come with life as any franchises’s only star, George and Leonard are the two most imposing perimeter defenders in basketball. Leonard has won two Defensive Player of the Year awards and has made an all-defensive team every year aside from his rookie year and 2017-18, when he missed all but nine games with a quad injury. George has made All-Defensive team four times and led the league in steals last season. Each approaches that end with nuanced, game-changing force, and a level of confidence that’s impossible for others to duplicate without tumbling into reckless behavior. When they reach, they also teach.

Both have become irrepressible offensive fireworks, but they initially forged their identities with defense as their DNA. Leonard and George etched names for themselves by snuffing out the opponent’s best scorer, knowing they weren’t drafted in a slot high enough to demand 20 shots a night. Both guarded prime LeBron James in the playoffs early in their years without crumbling. They’re versatile and long and smooth, sure, but also committed. It’s not easy to screen either one off their initial assignment, and they impact the other team’s approach no matter where they stand on the floor.

Great offensive players have gravity, meaning they attract attention whether they have the ball or not, as if they’re a bright light drawing in a floating moth. But Leonard and George have an inverse “anti-gravity” effect on the other end. Instead of attracting players from the other team to their geographic location, their mere presence is a natural repellent.

Swing the ball towards either one at your own risk. Use their man to set a ball screen, and pray they don’t spring out and trap the handler 30 feet from the rim — or, even worse, switch onto the play’s initiator and muzzle things another way. Both have spent a majority of their careers forcing offenses to rearrange their entire game plan, making them venture outside their comfort zone before a set is even called. As one coach told Sports Illustrated’s (and now Clippers executive) Lee Jenkins about Leonard back in 2016: “You go at him, you’re asking for trouble.”

A great defense can be built around either one, so to have both at the same time isn’t fair. Factor in point guard Patrick Beverley and new forward Maurice Harkless as ideal complements, and the Clippers have a defensive unit that’s imposing enough to strip most teams of their offensive identity. If your momentum is generated by stars who draw help and then find the open man, what happens against a team that doesn’t need to help?

Consider the Clippers’ potential playoff opponents. How will the Houston Rockets handle the George/Leonard duo if one guards Harden, Beverley sticks Chris Paul, and the other member of the George/Leonard duo sticks to Clint Capela to switch Houston’s pick-and-roll and vaporize the play? Houston can hunt for lesser defenders and/or develop a system that involves more player and ball movement, but in crunch time of a tenacious playoff game, they may lean on the isolation-heavy style they know. Problem is, what they know plays right into L.A.’s hands.

Then consider the Portland Trail Blazers or Utah Jazz. Damian Lillard, C.J. McCollum, Donovan Mitchell, and Mike Conley will all be forced to attack a defense that sees virtually no drop from its best and second-best defender. Can the Denver Nuggets bully them down low with Nikola Jokic, or will it not matter if/when Jamal Murray gets erased from the equation? What can the new-look Lakers do?

The Clippers’ personnel opens up so many different options. They can be uber-aggressive (which is how the Oklahoma City Thunder unleashed George last season, with shades of LeBron’s Miami Heat), or be more conservative and let the action come to them. George and Leonard are deadly on the ball, but in certain matchups, the Clippers can also mess around by throwing one onto a non-threat, then turn him loose in passing lanes as a roving security guard. Safe plays will sit below a flashing yellow light: proceed with caution. George and Leonard will throw off timing and make offenses either think a beat too long or act a split-second too slow. Hesitate or rush, either way you’re toast.

Health definitely matters, with George coming off shoulder surgery (no small matter for a defender who fights over dozens of ball screens every night) and Leonard limping his way through a historic Finals run, during which his defense toggled between brilliant (against the Milwaukee Bucks as Giannis Antetokounmpo’s primary defender) and lackadaisical (he wasn’t himself on that end through most of the Finals). The rest of the roster has questions, particularly in the rim protection department, where Ivika Zubac and Montrezl Harrell are the only big men right now. Should the Clippers match up against the Milwaukee Bucks or Philadelphia 76ers in the NBA Finals – or the crosstown rival Los Angeles Lakers, who now boast Anthony Davis and DeMarcus Cousins — size will matter.

But there should be plenty of opportunity to add more between now and when the buyout market opens up in the middle of the season. This is a team that had a bottom-third defense for the last two seasons, and was forced to stick Beverley on Kevin Durant with their season on the line in this year’s playoffs.

Things are different now. Leonard and George are the backbone of a title contender that can do things nobody else can. And on paper, that arguably makes them the team to beat.

[plusorminuscongress]

National Recording Registry: Countdown to this year’s inductees

National Recording Registry: Countdown to this year’s inductees By Neely Tucker Published March 19, 2019 at 10:00AM

This is a guest post by Amanda Jenkins, a librarian in residence in the Library’s Motion Picture, Broadcasting, and Recorded Sound Division. It was first published on the Now See Hear! blog last week. We’re republishing a slightly edited version, as we’re counting down until the newest 25 additions to the Library’s National Recording Registry are announced tomorrow, March 20.

  The National Recording Registry  is well-known for its selections of music of all genres, but many historic radio and spoken word recordings also have been inducted. The Registry ensures that “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant” recordings are preserved for future generations, and that includes speeches, field recordings, comedy albums, early attempts at recording sound, oral histories, literary readings and…whales.

In this post, we’re celebrating some of the fascinating non-musical titles in the Registry.

A NASA portrait of Neil Armstrong from the Library’s Prints & Photographs Division.

Apollo 11 Astronaut Neil Armstrong Broadcast from the Moon (July 21, 1969) – inducted in 2004.

Neil Armstrong’s 1969 moonwalk, in which he was joined by fellow astronaut Buzz Aldrin, lasted two hours and 13 minutes. They collected soil samples, took photos and hoisted an American flag. Throughout their excursion, the astronauts maintained a steady radio conversation between themselves and Mission Control in Houston, Texas. From that conversation comes some of the most famous words in human history— “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

Read an essay by Cary O’Dell of the National Recording Preservation Board (and regular Now See Hear! blogger) about the broadcast.

A transcript of the transmission, with audio and video clips, can be found on NASA’s website.

“2000 Years with Carl Reiner & Mel Brooks” (1961) – inducted in 2008

The secret to living 2000 years? “Never touch fried foods!” In their party routine first performed for friends, Mel Brooks played a 2000-year-old man, while Carl Reiner interviewed him. After much convincing, the two writers for Sid Caesar’s “Your Show of Shows,” recorded their ad-libbed dialogue for a 1961 album. Interview subjects ranged from marriage (“I was married over 200 times!”) to children (“I have over 1500 children and not one of them ever comes to visit!”) and to transportation (“What was the means of transportation? Fear!”).

Listen to a Studio 360 feature on this comedy recording.

Phonautograms, Edouard-Leon Scott de Martinville (ca. 1853-1861) – inducted in 2010

In late 1853 or early 1854, Edouard-Leon Scott de Martinville captured the first recorded sounds by etching onto blackened glass plates the movements of a boar’s-bristle stylus, vibrating in sympathy with a guitar and a human voice. Later, Scott made recordings on paper wrapped around a drum. The resulting “phonautograms” proved crucial to the development of recorded sound. Scott was interested solely in the visible tracings of sound waves in order to study acoustics and did not record with the intention of playing back or listening to his recordings. Nevertheless, in 2008, researchers from the First Sounds group, using contemporary audio technology (developed with the support of several institutions, including the Library of Congress and the National Recording Preservation Board) were able to play back Scott’s recordings for the very first time.

Listen to the phonautograms on the First Sounds website.

Cylinder Recordings of Ishi (1911–14) – inducted in 2010

Recorded on 148 wax cylinders between September 1911 and April 1914, these recordings represent the largest audio collection of the extinct Yahi language. Ishi, the last surviving member of the Northern California Yahi tribe and the last speaker of its language, sings traditional Yahi songs and tells stories, including the story of “Wood Duck” recorded on 51 cylinders. The complete recordings, totaling 5 hours and 41 minutes, were made by anthropologists Alfred Kroeber and T.T. Waterman during Ishi’s five-year residency at the University of California Museum of Anthropology in San Francisco (now the Phoebe A. Hearst Museum of Anthropology, UC Berkeley). The cylinders are held at the Hearst Museum in Berkeley.

Read an essay by Cary O’Dell for a more detailed account of these recordings.

“All Things Considered,” first broadcast (May 3, 1971) – inducted in 2016

The National Public Radio flagship news program “All Things Considered” launched on May 3, 1971, one month after the network itself began broadcasting.  With an emphasis on “interpretation, investigative reporting on public affairs, the world of ideas and the arts,” in the words of programming head Bill Siemering, “All Things Considered” aimed to give voice to diverse segments of American society in a relaxed, conversational mode.  The first broadcast, however, featuring recorded excerpts from a huge antiwar protest in the nation’s capital that took place the same day, was “raw, visceral, and took listeners to the heart of America’s agonies over the war in Vietnam,” remembered Susan Stamberg, an NPR staffer at the time, who became a co-host of the show the following year.  While the inaugural program was broadcast to approximately 90 stations across the nation, reaching only a few hundred thousand listeners, “All Things Considered” has since become, according to NPR, “the most listened-to afternoon drive-time news radio program in the country.”

“The Eagle Stirreth Her Nest,” Reverend C. L. Franklin (1953) – inducted in 2010

Long before his daughter Aretha attained stardom in the 1960s, Rev. C.L. Franklin (1915-1984) was a recording star in his own right, with dozens of his riveting sermons reaching an audience well beyond his New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit, Michigan. African-American entrepreneur Joe Von Battle, whose record shop was only a few blocks from Franklin’s church, recorded Franklin’s sermon “The Eagle Stirreth Her Nest” and released it on three 78-rpm discs on his JVB label in 1953. In the sermon, Franklin draws his text from the Book of Deuteronomy and expounds on the parallels between “God and the eagle.” He builds to a thunderously emotional climax before his very enthusiastic and vocal congregation. Franklin’s many vocal devices inspired not only other preachers, but also gospel and rhythm-and-blues artists who appropriated many of his techniques. Franklin was a national figure in the African-American community from the 1950s on and a close friend and ally of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Songs of the Humpback Whale” (1970) – inducted in 2010

The use of underwater microphones, called hydrophones, showed that not only can whales communicate, but they do so with beauty and complexity. Frank Watlington and Roger Payne, among others, made these unique recordings. The haunting sounds on “Songs of the Humpback Whale,” along with Payne’s liner notes for CRM Records, helped turn the tide of U.S. public opinion against whaling. In addition to the album’s aesthetic and political significance, it can also be considered historically valuable: whales change their songs over time so these recordings document a cetacean performance practice of a time gone by.

“Murmurs of the Earth,” disc prepared for the Voyager spacecraft (1977) – inducted in 2007

This disc was prepared to introduce our planet aurally to any alien intelligence that might encounter the Voyager spacecraft many millions of years in the future. The disc contains encoded photographs, spoken messages, music and sounds as well as greetings delivered in 55 languages. The sound essay includes life sounds (EEGs and EKGs of the human brain and heart), birds, elephants, whales, volcanoes, rain and a baby. The 90 minutes of music features selections ranging from ragas to Navajo Indian chants, Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2, a Peruvian Woman’s Wedding song, and Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode.”

Learn more about the “Golden Record” and listen to excerpts on NASA’s website.

Due to copyrights, many Registry titles are not available for listening online. Early musical recordings are available in the National Jukebox, including a few Registry titles; interviews conducted in the 1980s by recording industry giant Joe Smith for his 1988 book, Off the Record: An Oral History of Popular Music, feature dozens of the musicians behind Registry titles; and many musical titles are discussed in an NPR series as well as a Studio 360 series on the Registry. Many of the non-music Registry titles can be listened to in the Recorded Sound Research Center.

A full list of the recordings in the Registry with descriptions and links to essays, podcasts, and ways to listen is available here. Have suggestions for further additions to the Registry? Take a look at the list of titles already in the Registry, and nominate a recording here.

Read more on https://loc.gov

[thecelticpearl-blog]

How I Won $10K By Tweeting

A little over a year ago, I noticed my friend on Facebook was posting a bunch of pictures of free items she had received in the mail from different companies. Some items were full size, and some were samples, but there were a lot of items that I either already used or wanted to try, so I contacted my friend and asked her how she was getting all of these FREE products. That's when she told me she was part of a Freebie Group on FB, that posted new FREE offers, great discounts and deals, and contests daily. I told her I would love to join the group (since it is a closed group, I could not see the group posts), and she added me to it.

At first, all I did was look through for all the free item posts, and I would use the links to complete the forms or questionnaires so that they would mail me my free products. And let me tell you, there were ALOT of them and I did get ALOT of free items over the next several months. Some were things I would have had to buy anyway like toothpaste, shampoo + conditioner, and some otc medications (mostly for allergies or sleeping aides). Some were items that I wouldn't have bought but was happy that I got free because we would use them like bluetooth speakers, multi tools, and even a customized whiskey glass (it has my initials etched on it). And these are just some of the things I was getting. I started getting new packages every day or every other day. I was posting photos of my "freebies" on my FB for awhile to not only show my friends what I got because I was so excited to have gotten it free, but also to let them know they could be getting all of these things free too. But then it got to the point where I had people wondering if my fb got hacked because it was nothing but pics of new products every day, and I had those negative skeptics who would contact me to tell me how careful I needed to be when getting these products because there was bound to be some sort of catch (and while I appreciated the concern, again I only started doing this after a yr or so of seeing a friend of mine do it, so I knew it was legit, or at least the group she belonged to was because if not, she would have known long before I ever even started it). But it got to the point where not only did I not want to have to keep explaining how I get everything really for free etc to the skeptics, but I also didn't want to annoy my friends with nothing but product posts which is kind of how it had gotten for awhile there, so I started only posting when I got really cool things like accessories, clothing, electronics, or stuff like that.

Then, I started noticing more and more contests that were being posted in the group and less free items (certain companies only do freebies at certain times of the year so sometimes there may not be anything available or nothing that you personally need or want) and so I started clicking on the contest links and entering the ones that I wanted to win.

Over the past year, I have won many items ranging in prices from $5-$150. I won Amazon gift cards, movie tickets, bags, clocks, gift cards to other stores, and more. But again, the most expensive thing I won was around $150 (it was a set of bags that I won from a Marlboro contest).

Besides entering contests that had prizes I liked or wanted, I would also enter contests that had prizes that I knew my husband would want or like. That is actually how I came to enter the one that I won $10k from.  It was a Kelloggs + Pringles contest that had 5 Grand Prizes of $10,000 for Sports Season Tickets. Now, I will admit that I am not the biggest sports fan in the world, unless it's football I usually don't care to watch it on tv, although even I must admit there is something to be said about sitting in the stands of a live game, but I don't do that very often either. My husband on the other hand is a sports fan, a football lover, and one of the biggest Kansas City Chiefs fans I have ever known. In fact, I probably don't know anyone who is a bigger fan of any team other than maybe my Mom with the San Antonio Spurs or my Uncle with the Dallas Cowboys (my Grandma was a huge Cowboys fan too).  But other than that, I do not know a more devoted fan than my husband. Birthdays, Christmases, whatever the occasion anyone who knows him knows you can not go wrong present wise as long as you get him something Chiefs related. I was even lucky enough one year to be able to take him to a Chiefs game for his birthday. We live in Texas so getting to one of their games isn't the easiest thing, but they were playing the Houston Texans the first year Reliant Stadium was open and I was able to get pretty reasonable seats at pretty reasonable prices. He was so happy, and it was such a great experience  (and a great game to be at if you were a Chiefs fan, they beat the Texans 45-17).  Unfortunately, we have not been able to make it to another game since (but he watches every Sun that they play, even if we have to find a Sports Bar that's airing it). So, when I saw the contest for the $10k for season tickets, I thought, oh he would love that. Plus, when I saw the contest it was in November and with his birthday and Christmas both in December I thought, man if I could win this before either of those,  it would be the ultimate present for him. To enter, all I had to do was post a tweet picking either team Saturday or Sunday, and tag Kelloggs and Pringles in it. So, I posted the tweet in late November and went on about my business.

Well, I didn't win before his birthday or Christmas and to be completely honest with you, I had forgotten all about it. I enter a lot of contests so it's really hard for me to keep track of all of them, and I just always assume if I win, I will be notified, and if I haven't heard anything in a couple months than more than likely, I didn't win. So, I really didn't even think about the contest again after I entered it.

Then, last week I was sitting on my back porch with my husband when I noticed that I had a Twitter notification in my email. I clicked on it and read the message, which was a notification that I had been tagged in the tweet shown above. I looked at it for a minute and then I handed my phone to my husband and said, "Read this". I wanted to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me or that I had in fact read it correctly.

My husband, being the skeptic that he is, initially thought it might be some sort of scam, and asked me where the notification came from. I told him from Twitter from a post Pringles made on Twitter. So, he got on Twitter himself, went to Pringles page, and sure enough there was the tweet. Now, he may have still been a little skeptical at this point, but he was starting to get a little more excited about it, as was I. I then contacted Pringles with the information that they had requested from me and waited to hear back from someone. The next day I received a phone call from a woman at Kelloggs, confirming that I was indeed a Grand Prize Winner and telling me they would be sending me paperwork to sign amd then once they receive it, I will be sent a check for $10,000!!! I sent the paperwork back yesterday and it was confirmed that it was received today and once it's processed, the check will be mailed!!!

I am so excited and still somewhat in shock. I have never won anything like this ever and I don't know anyone that has won a prize amount this big without spending something up front. I cannot begin to tell you how thankful I am, how blessed I feel, or how much this is going to help my family right now. What I can tell you, especially the skeptics, is that you can't win if you don't play. If you see a contest that is FREE to enter, whether you are skeptic or not, if you have the time, ENTER IT. You never know, you could be the next Grand Prize Winner!!

I would love to hear some happy stories from other winners, so if you've ever won a great prize, leave a comment letting me know what it was and how you won!

[pennydswanson]

Houston Calvin Klein Fragrance Engraving Event - Calligraphy Engraver

Fragrance & Cosmetic Bottle Calligraphy Engraving - Houston

Years ago, the prospect of engraving at events here in Houston was one of those ventures that I initially approached with hesitation. At the core, I would consider my personality to lean more towards introversion. I am not shy, but I am an introvert. Granted, people that meet me provide a look of bewilderment when I state this but alas it is true. So the idea of engraving on the spot as clients watched and trying to keep pace with the high volume of requests that can result in a fragrance, grocery or wine shop initially seemed daunting my first year in business. However I will say that over the years, it has become one of the preferred aspects of my business and I think nothing of being watched anymore. Having the opportunity to interact with clients and provide work for them relatively quickly and at a location that is convenient for them creates a perfect synergy for me, my clients and, by proxy, their clients.

I have a genuine passion for ornamental penmanship and Spencerian script. That, or a derivative of that, is the vast majority of what I do & adore. I am grateful everyday that this passion has resulted in a business where I am paid to express my passion. I love the idea of living my life in ornamental letters. It has become my signature in a sense.

The engraved fragrance bottle above by Calvin Klein was engraved at a Macy’s event in Houston last weekend. This particular client simply desired to have her beautiful name engraved on the bottle.

I liked the result with this engraved fragrance bottle for a number of reasons:

1) The desired message was short which allowed for a small ornamental calligraphy flourishes with the entrance and exit strokes. It isn’t ostentatious, but just enough to not be considered as plain. It can easily be distinguished from the engraving or etching that a machine will produce for a fragrance, wine or liquor bottle engraving.

2) Although some people may not care, I believe that the ornamentation provides an aspect of personalization that takes the “human factor” into account.

With the human factor in mind, I have absolutely had events where another engraver engraved at the same location the day before me and there are still tester bottles from their work at the store. I love that I can see someone’s work on an engraved fragrance bottle and know exactly which hand engraver was there. There are only a few hand engravers here in Houston (literally about 4-5) and I KNOW their work. It is our signature. A trademark. I had the pleasure this last weekend of following a seasoned engraver and was in awe of an intertwined monogram that she engraved on a fragrance bottle as she had downtime during the event. Her work was her signature and since it was engraved in glass, it will literally endure forever. How can you not experience chills upon considering this? I love that….

I love the result of this engraved fragrance bottle above and I hope that you do too. Cheers!

Peace & Love while Slinging Ink®

from News About Businesses https://bellagrafiaink.com/blog/2018/10/23/houston-fragrance-engraving-event-calligraphy-engraver