years before I had not a clue what to ask for – a bag? New electronics? Clothes? But
unlike most young adults my age I decided to ask, or should I say beg, for my very
own metals studio. As I tried to persuade my neurotic Jewish parents that having
a blowtorch in our house wasn’t that dangerous, the dream of being able to create
jewelry in our basement was slowly turning into a possible reality.
About a week after the last of the eight candles had been lit, melted and the menorah
was put back in its place I was finally able to convince the Levines that the studio
was a fantastic idea. “It’ll increase the value of our home,” I told them. “You won’t
even know I’m down there,” I fibbed. Although I like to assume they believed me
and that my lawyering skills had been perfected after only 2 years of law school, I
knew the truth – they were sick and tired of being bothered.
Shortly thereafter boxes of all shapes and sizes began arriving at our house. Big
ones, small ones, ones the size of flex shafts, pliers and table top drills. As I began
setting up my new equipment my fourteen year old self’s dream was officially