From the December 1944 magazine.

Time on Our Hands

Here I am, back at last, where I've wanted to be for a long time--in front of a modeling stand with a lump of clay in my hands. It was a long, long time ago that I modeled and cast my first figure, Fanny Flatbottom.

My next achievement was a delicate if somewhat erotic ashtray--a figure of Pan holding aloft a slender nymph on his shoulders. One day when we were packing up to move to the mountains, my wife, teetering along the edge of the staircase in her preoccupied way, flew off into space, and I found her at the bottom of the stairs where she and Pan were gazing bemusedly at the clay remnants of the once lovely nymph. The episode was probably symbolic, because that marked the crash, too, of all my dreams of becoming a sculptor. For it was about that time that my wife crossed over the borderline from a gay drinking companion into a strange alien person living in a world of her own. In the years that followed we moved many times, and wherever we went, Fanny Flatbottom, a little chipped and a trifle cracked, moved along with us, a dusty epitaph to my buried ambition.

-- Kay M.'s husband, Bob

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