The woman at the city health center made glass flowers. At the corner of the large, shared office, behind her wide wooden desk she put aside the long needles and thread and placed them carefully into a plastic bowl of multi-colored glass beads. “When would you like to come for the pre-marriage seminar, the free dates are on the seventeenth and the nineteenth” she said quite pleasantly. She looked at us through the top of her thinly rimmed glasses, her brow forming an umbrella.
“Seventeenth it is, please come at around seven thirty to eight in the morning.”
“Did you make these?” I asked.
“Oh Yes!” her face lighting up. “Everyone else turns them into fashion jewelry, but I don’t like jewelry at all. I like flowers.”
“This one…” she takes a set of yellow colored beads, woven together like petals. “This one is going to be a dancing lady. At least I’d like to turn them into a dancing lady. I just can’t seem to get the shape right.”
“Yeah, a dancing lady…” she continued, her voice fading into her thoughts, admiring the beads on her hands. “I just can’t seem to get the shape right.”