More Summer Color

July 15, 2018

My grandmother Ruth collected small glass bottles in a rainbow of hues and placed them in the east window of her kitchen. The rising sun set the bottles shimmering, flooding the kitchen with color. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, peach, pink, lilac…

This was a long time ago.  I would give much to have a photograph. On the other hand, it could be that memory coupled with emotion is better. What I intuited in Ruth’s kitchen: By the simple act of standing in the sun with its bottle-companions, a wee bit of colored glass can go beyond its functional purpose and set a room ablaze. Thus it moves toward its full potential.

Hey, I want to be that! Well, I can keep noticing ‘small’ things, and reach out for glory, and share it however imperfectly with you.

Other day at the grocery store I came across a table laden with markdowns. Specifically, “summer décor, 75% off.” I have no need for such. At my age I’m more into simplifying than adorning. But wait! Color caught my eye. There in somewhat organized rows were ribbed glass jars, in various hues. Red. Azure. Gold. Lime. I guess they were meant to hold candles? At any rate they were tricked out for summer with thick rope handles, vaguely suggesting a nautical theme. I was confused by the handles, but clear enough as to the elegance and desirability of the elegant jars. They took me back to a kitchen full of color.  My hand reached out. Drew back at the silliness of acquisition.  Reached out again…

$1.87 per jar sealed the deal.  I bought three. De-handled them. And here they are, in my kitchen window.  To reawaken my vision and perhaps yours.

Another colorist is at her work, easing about a small wooded acreage in Hardin County, capturing radiance in the form of insects. Unbelievable what may be accomplished by a vision, and a willingness to work hard at perfecting her skill in achieving it.  Persistence is key:  Unlike my glass jars, which serve where they’re put, these little beauties lead her a merry dance.

Author: Phoebe Dishman

Phoebe H. Dishman was born and raised in Beaumont, Texas. She is a wife, mother, and grandmother. An essayist and poet, she teaches adult Sunday school, compiles a monthly prayer calendar, edits the Big Thicket Association quarterly bulletin, and keeps a keen eye and ear open for birds. View all posts by Phoebe Dishman