Last week found Youngest Daughter, Youngest Son and I exploring the wonderful historic world of Jamestown, Yorktown and Williamsburg. ::sigh:: Positively dreamy. But next time, I'm going all by myself where I can sit and watch the glassblower work for hours on end, mesmerized by the glowing ball of molten glass that slowly shifts shapes until it becomes a vase.
Or listen to the shoemaker chatter on about the resoling of a shoe.
Maybe have the cooper explain again how he fits the slats of a bucket together most precisely so that no water can dribble out.
Or be taken in by the hypnotic movements of the weaving of a basket.
Because this is what fascinated me and drew me in in my visit. The fabulous artisans that had taken the time to learn a craft passed down through the generations for hundreds of years. Slowly, by hand, without the aid of any modern labor-saving devices. It made me feel calm and connected. Which is always a nice way to feel.
And even though I'd rather not shave my head and pick a wig made of yak, human, goat or horse hair, it still was lovely to watch someone so carefully ply their trade.
And earn the title of Artisan.