The Threshold This fall, grandmother passed away.  What remains vivid is the journey home from school.  Her silhouette, stretched long by the setting sun,  Would gather me in an embrace before I even drew near.  And when I finally reached her side, she would lift me high into the air. Now, I have grown tall, taller than she was.  Yet whenever the holidays bring me back,  stepping across that threshold,  Those sheltering eaves,  always feel forever beyond my reach.

  The transformation story of this lamp begins the instant I stepped into   Mom’s shop . There it was: A boasted, shiny metallic lamp, wrapped in a plasticky crystal chandelier. It had a distinctly intimate, “bedroom-like” invitation. I couldn’t understand how this little, bright metal piece had made its way into an environment anchored in  warm, rich wood tones . Still, this lamp was a fixture in Mom’s shop. As I began working, I felt like a skilled fitter from a bygone era, carefully tightening a young woman’s lingerie beneath a grand gown. My first step was stripping the lamp down. I was on a mission to find the perfect material and color to elevate its tone within its surroundings, dressing it in a way that showcased its inherent form. My vision was clear: a  wooden ring  that would provide substantial, see-through space for light. Given its prominent position at the front desk—where it catches every eye upon entering—I wanted the piece to look truly  g...