Glassblowing is magic.

Anyone who has seen a demonstration—even on Netflix—will know this to be true. It has become almost all I can think about: the grumble of the furnace and reheating chamber;  the smell of runny beeswax used to lubricate metal tools, as warm and tender as the most intimate hug; the feeling of patting your head and rubbing your tummy while turning the blowpipe with one hand and caressing the glass with tools in the other; the glass expanding with the heavy push of my breath; the heat from the 1000-degree furnace making my arm glow pink and my cheeks flush.