Waterford Crystal and a jelly glass
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Charles has always been happiest in the company of older people. No complaint from me since he didn't look at me and say "Eew, you're old enough to be my father." Back in the days of Yahoo and AOL chatrooms I always posted my age (OK, weak clay that I am, sometimes I'd subtract one year).
Even if I'd been 21 I'd've brushed off anybody who sent me a curt a/s/l. There was a local 19 year old who repeatedly asked me if I'd like to have sex with him. I always politely begged off. Finally he started flashing IMs my way calling me "old geezer," "old fart" and then log off. Only abuse my age brought me, certainly nothing tha wounded me.
Charles is enamoured, addicted really to crystal. The countless candlesticks, vases and whatevers are the reason I didn't go to Well Fargo's website and make the July mortgage payment first thing this morning.
He made a knew friend awhile back. A woman of about seventy. He was subbing for a local American Anglican Church's organist. She's too sharp and good humored to ordinarily hang out with the dowdy old farts that make up the denomination. A taste for high liturgy brings her there every now and then. Her praise of Charles' performance evolved into a happy chat. They've become good friends.
Charles' luck with friends has been pretty mixed. I've yet to meet her but from his stories she's a kind, clear-headed woman. Couldn't be happier that they've met.
And she's giving him crystal. Some of it Waterford and I guess not cheap. (She has three servants so she must be on the up side of well-to-do.)
Sadly I can't tell the difference between Waterford and a jelly glass. Actually the jelly glass has a seam. But I'm ignorant of the aesthetics of crystal. Looking at it I can spot the seemingly inevitable floral motif. Wish I could. Crystal always makes Charles frisky and happy. Maybe my eyes will some day become educated.
Back in Savannah as the tourist trade began to steadily but damnably rise little, ahem, antique stores popped up around town. Maybe the shop called Junkiques was right on the mark. There were lots of old 19th century bottles. Probably held patent medicine or liquor (as did the patent medicine). They were pretty neat looking. Not that I bought one. I bought books, hardly ever anything else.
But I do get a kick in the evening when Charles brings his glassware out. He arranges it on the mantle and tables. A little restlessly sometimes, striving to acheive whatever symmetry he's wanting. He'll light candles and we'll sit in the living room. When its time to go to sleep he packs it all away so the cats can't destroy it.