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...a sweatshop of moxie

Monday, January 17, 2005

Bring and Buy

I have few passions as expensive as my collection of Baccarat crystal.

Sturdy paperweights, champagne glasses so delicately fluted, they'd break in your hand if you applied the least pressure, perfume bottles which hold scented memories still, and decanters which adorn my side of the living room -- three Baccarat decanters, one made with inlaid rubies, my 18th birthday present from my late maternal grandmother. My beloved Oma. She knew what I loved.

My latest acquisition comes via my mother, she of the gimlet eye for treasures.

At the Sunday church bazaar, she pounced on a perfume bottle she knew was almost certainly a Baccarat, but incorrectly labeled "Waterford". Would Cher like to be confused with Annie Lennnox? I take umbrage on their behalf for even having suggested it.

And when I say 'pounced', I mean languidly approached other items first, then almost left the booth with a mere glance at the object she really wanted. Smart lass, just like her daughter. Better Catholic though.

She walked away with a perfume bottle not unlike this, only having relieved her wallet of 10 dollars of the meekly sought after 60.

No relation to Burt Bacharat

Lovely it was, and lovely it still is.

I know already the place it will sit upon in my home. Next to its two Lalique cousins on my boudoir, which gets ample north light in the mornings, turning my bedroom into Chartres cathedral with the noon-day sun.

I have few passions as expensive as my collection of Lalique crystal...


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