timds
09-24-2014, 08:45 PM
I always liked Tiffany's. That shade of blue stands out so softly against the concrete. You can spot their store from a mile away. It’s strange; they always had bracelets in their storefront window. Today, however, they had on display a new style of engagement ring. It was a very simple design. Three diamonds grouped close together on a white gold band.
I always liked simple. My mother had this ungodly ring from my father when they were young. It had countless diamonds and stones jammed anywhere the jeweler could fit them. It was like when a child makes its own sundae, more sprinkles than ice cream.
Anyways, like I was saying before. I noticed the change in their store window because the sun bounced off the ring and right into my eyes. Oh boy was it beautiful. I really should show Roger. Maybe he’ll get it for me someday, if he ever decides to ask me to marry him.
I guess I should have watched where I was going. It wasn’t the man’s fault. He was just minding his own business and I walked into the street and probably ruined his day. He did hit the brakes before he hit me. A ‘67 Buick still isn’t the softest thing to be hit by, but I do appreciate him trying to stop for me.
I think someone said somewhere that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They lied. All I saw was this old music box that my father made for me when I was a young child. Why would I think of that at a time like this? Of all the things I could possibly think of, I thought of that stupid music box.
I was about eight years old when my father gave me the music box. It wasn’t my birthday or anything; he just gave it to me out of the blue. When he first gave it to me you should have seen the look on his face. He was so proud of his work. He sat there and told me every detail about how he made it. It was like I was right there with him in his workshop.
He was a furniture maker, so he was very skilled at woodworking. The box was about the size of a five hundred-page novel or so, didn’t weigh much more either. You could tell he spent hours making it. Looked as if he went to the store and bought right from the window from one of those fancy stores you see in the magazines.
It was made of white oak. I have never seen the grain in wood run as straight as it did in my music box. My father stained it with a dark red stain. It looked almost Mahogany like after the stain aged a bit. He really did a good job. Evenly stained on the inside and out. Most furniture makers don’t stain all the wood in their creations. They would stain just the wood that will be seen regularly. My father wasn’t one of those furniture makers. He took pride in his work.
I remember him telling me that he used a tongue and groove method, combined with wood glue, to hold the sides and bottom of the box together. This gave the box a look as if it were made from one solid piece of wood. He attached the lid of the box with these small silver hinges that allowed it to stand when it was lifted. The hinges never squeaked, not even to this day.
In all the music boxes I’ve seen they always had a mirror on the inside of the lid. I never understood this. Are you supposed to stare at yourself as the music plays? My father had used a wood-burning instrument to create a rose and willow tree design on the inside of the lid. It must have taken him weeks to do. The dark lines of the burnt wood didn’t stand out from the oak. It looked as if it occurred naturally inside the wood. It really was a handsome looking music box now that I think of it.
The music was created by a rotating piece of cylindrical metal. It had notches cut into it so when they passed the metal prongs a note would sound. I think the song was a waltz by Chopin. I am not quite sure, I’d know it if I heard it again.
It’s still sitting on my nightstand back at home. I wonder what will happen to it now. I hope my father gives it to Nora my baby sister. She was always asking me to wind it up for her so she could hear the lovely music.
Strange things you think of when you are lying motionless on the middle of the road. I really do like that shade of blue Tiffany’s uses on their sign. It’s simple. I like simple.
Five stories up Thomas Linbolt stands with a cup of coffee he just made for himself. He witnessed the young woman walk in front of the moving car and now laying motionless over the yellow line on the road. Her brown hair, which only ten minutes ago he saw in a tight bun, was now spread out on the asphalt. He knew the young woman. Her name was Lisa Bade. She was just in his office for an interview for a secretary position.
He liked her a lot. Her blue eyes were very welcoming to Thomas when she sat across from him at his desk. They matched her fair complexion. She was dressed very modestly in a yellow summer dress with a pearl necklace on. He really would have enjoyed her company around the office. She was a very attractive young woman.
Taking a sip from his coffee he walked over to his desk. He picked up his phone and spoke to his secretary. He asked her if she would mind calling Miss Smith back. He would like to schedule another interview for the secretary position
I always liked simple. My mother had this ungodly ring from my father when they were young. It had countless diamonds and stones jammed anywhere the jeweler could fit them. It was like when a child makes its own sundae, more sprinkles than ice cream.
Anyways, like I was saying before. I noticed the change in their store window because the sun bounced off the ring and right into my eyes. Oh boy was it beautiful. I really should show Roger. Maybe he’ll get it for me someday, if he ever decides to ask me to marry him.
I guess I should have watched where I was going. It wasn’t the man’s fault. He was just minding his own business and I walked into the street and probably ruined his day. He did hit the brakes before he hit me. A ‘67 Buick still isn’t the softest thing to be hit by, but I do appreciate him trying to stop for me.
I think someone said somewhere that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They lied. All I saw was this old music box that my father made for me when I was a young child. Why would I think of that at a time like this? Of all the things I could possibly think of, I thought of that stupid music box.
I was about eight years old when my father gave me the music box. It wasn’t my birthday or anything; he just gave it to me out of the blue. When he first gave it to me you should have seen the look on his face. He was so proud of his work. He sat there and told me every detail about how he made it. It was like I was right there with him in his workshop.
He was a furniture maker, so he was very skilled at woodworking. The box was about the size of a five hundred-page novel or so, didn’t weigh much more either. You could tell he spent hours making it. Looked as if he went to the store and bought right from the window from one of those fancy stores you see in the magazines.
It was made of white oak. I have never seen the grain in wood run as straight as it did in my music box. My father stained it with a dark red stain. It looked almost Mahogany like after the stain aged a bit. He really did a good job. Evenly stained on the inside and out. Most furniture makers don’t stain all the wood in their creations. They would stain just the wood that will be seen regularly. My father wasn’t one of those furniture makers. He took pride in his work.
I remember him telling me that he used a tongue and groove method, combined with wood glue, to hold the sides and bottom of the box together. This gave the box a look as if it were made from one solid piece of wood. He attached the lid of the box with these small silver hinges that allowed it to stand when it was lifted. The hinges never squeaked, not even to this day.
In all the music boxes I’ve seen they always had a mirror on the inside of the lid. I never understood this. Are you supposed to stare at yourself as the music plays? My father had used a wood-burning instrument to create a rose and willow tree design on the inside of the lid. It must have taken him weeks to do. The dark lines of the burnt wood didn’t stand out from the oak. It looked as if it occurred naturally inside the wood. It really was a handsome looking music box now that I think of it.
The music was created by a rotating piece of cylindrical metal. It had notches cut into it so when they passed the metal prongs a note would sound. I think the song was a waltz by Chopin. I am not quite sure, I’d know it if I heard it again.
It’s still sitting on my nightstand back at home. I wonder what will happen to it now. I hope my father gives it to Nora my baby sister. She was always asking me to wind it up for her so she could hear the lovely music.
Strange things you think of when you are lying motionless on the middle of the road. I really do like that shade of blue Tiffany’s uses on their sign. It’s simple. I like simple.
Five stories up Thomas Linbolt stands with a cup of coffee he just made for himself. He witnessed the young woman walk in front of the moving car and now laying motionless over the yellow line on the road. Her brown hair, which only ten minutes ago he saw in a tight bun, was now spread out on the asphalt. He knew the young woman. Her name was Lisa Bade. She was just in his office for an interview for a secretary position.
He liked her a lot. Her blue eyes were very welcoming to Thomas when she sat across from him at his desk. They matched her fair complexion. She was dressed very modestly in a yellow summer dress with a pearl necklace on. He really would have enjoyed her company around the office. She was a very attractive young woman.
Taking a sip from his coffee he walked over to his desk. He picked up his phone and spoke to his secretary. He asked her if she would mind calling Miss Smith back. He would like to schedule another interview for the secretary position