What else is there to do on a rainy Tuesday except walk a couple of mall miles, then sit in a shawl at your desk working on a scene for your next novel. So that's what I'm going to do today.
October 6--English School, Marquetry box. Joachim sat at his bench a tiny blade in his hand. The flickering light from the candle made it hard for him to see the smallest pieces of veneer, to cut them to fit into the design. He loved the work, loved choosing the wood grain to blend with the shape of the piece, loved using stain to make shadows. He worked long hours to insure that his work his special boxes were treasured equally for their beauty as for what was kept inside. His years of apprenticeship with old Wallace, living over the unheated shop and subsisting on the thin soup and stale bread that Wallace's manservant would thrust at him once a day, seemed like a dim memory. Always the reality of his life was here at his bench where the small movements of his forearms resting on the edge over the years had worn smooth spots, where the golden wax of a lifetime of candles had burnished the surface of his work table until it shone. Joachim made sure that his apprentice had more comforts than he had had, but also took care not to make young Samuel's lot too easy. Joachim believed that hardship make a man stronger and weeded out the mediocre woodworkers. He glanced over at the boy, smiling to see him hunched over his bench, blond curls tumbled into his eyes and the tip of his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth.
Oh, I like him. Enjoy your day.
--Barbara
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