Little Things . . .

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. . . Mean A Lot . . . or so the song goes. I had forgotten some of the words to this piece and looked them up on the internet. That’s where I found a vocal rendition by Kitty Kallen which you can hear at the following address:  www.youtube.com/watch?v=501bwTRmkYY     Some days I might think the song a bit sappy, but today it’s a reminder to quit rushing around and try to be nice.

This song has been tuning its way around my head for about a week. I first thought of it when someone asked me to make some necklaces for little girls – little things. I enjoyed making those and then I realized that most of the jewelry pieces I’ve made lately are fairly large. Where are the little things?

With that in mind, I dove right in and designed some different pieces. First, I tried to picture the women I know who wear smaller or lighter weight necklaces. I thought about the particular style of each and went from there. I was pleased to find a heart in my drawer of turquoise and accented the necklace for it with black onyx and sterling silver. It was looking awfully traditional until I added the donut achieving an asymmetrical look.

The fossil in the next piece is an unusual gray color; therefore I used hematite and pearls with it.

In the brown necklace, I tried to get a semi-chunky look in a small, short necklace. I wanted it to be completely eclectic and that proved to be quite a chore. I didn’t have quite enough beads of any one kind and must have restrung this one five or six times.  

The fourth piece  is my favorite. Again, I wanted something that was a mixture of beads and this one also was restrung numerous times. I particularly like this little pendant and the Celtic bead that adorns it. I’ve just started trying to work with sterling silver wire and think I’m going to like it.

There’s a line in the song that says  . . .”never cared much for diamonds and pearls” . . . “little things mean a lot”. . . While the connotation has to do with sentimental demonstrations of caring such as “touch(ing) my hair as you pass my chair” and “say(ing) I look nice when I’m not” . . . , let’s hope someone likes my “little” things. In the mean time, I’m going to try to remember the small gestures I can make that will be meaningful to others.

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Cleaning: A Necessary Evil

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I hate to clean! There’s just no way around it, though; it has to be done. Whether it’s cleaning the kitchen after cooking, cleaning the house or cleaning the studio, I just don’t like it. As we can all attest, cleaning doesn’t last. Yet, ever once in a while, I decide that I just can’t stand it any longer and I plunge into the chore with great gusto. Today, was one of those days.

Today was the day I finally cleaned the inside of my car. Anyone who has ever lived on a ranch can easily tell you what the inside of the ranch vehicles look like following a few days of muddy weather. Not only was the inside dirty, the outside of the car window had been licked by several hungry cows who thought the car might be housing their food. Muddy boots, shoes and jeans certainly left their mark on the inside of the car. I could, of course, go into great detail about the yuk I cleaned up, but I’ll just let you use your imagination. Be sure to apply all your senses, including sight, touch and smell to the conjured image!

Some say that out of “yuk” may come something good and today it happened. It’s always interesting to vacuum my car because I can’t see what’s under the seats and the cleaning often finds all sorts of things. Today was no exception. I found my long lost emery board, a receipt that I needed and then something I didn’t recognize emerged. I quickly turned off the machine and see what rose from the depths of the yuk. At first, I thought the vacuum had discovered some puzzle pieces, but I was wrong. The small sack under the seat contained three little hand cut cabochons that had been missing for quite some time.

This was a great find and I’ll be using those in my work tonight.

Before putting away the vacuum cleaner, I couldn’t help but wonder if anything else of value had been in the yuk and eaten by the machine. I opened the machine’s dirt container and found a small stretchy bracelet that was intended for the nursing home bazaar and a mustard colored bead. I retrieved the bracelet, but as I held the bead in my hand, I realized it was only a berry that must have fallen from an artificial plant. Following the pleasure of finding the cabs, I decided to forego cleaning the car windows, It is, after all, a ranch vehicle and it could rain again tomorrow and wash off those cow licks.

This car cleaning made me wonder what surprises await if only I would vacuum the couch or under the beds. Hmmm . . . should I do it? No, I think more cleaning can wait. Perhaps the anticipation of more buried treasure will motivate me another day.

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Little Lights

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At dusk the other evening I drove past a yard surrounded by paper bag lanterns. This is a sure sign that Christmas is upon us. While I realize that those lights take many more sophisticated forms than they used to, such as some that use light bulbs rather than candles in the bags, they still remind me of Rudolpho Anaya’s children’s book, The Farolitos of Christmas. Anaya tells the story of an old San Juan tradition wherein some of the people dress like shepherds and enact a play showing the journey taken to visit Jesus. On the way to the church these pastores stop and sing in front of the house with the brightest lights. Although this has always been the little girl Luz’s house, one particular year, her abuelo, grandfather, is not healthy enough to chop the wood and build the fire and her father is away at war. A disappointed Luz wants to help, but can’t find an answer. Although she is too small to build a bonfire, she continues to think about the situation until one day she makes an analogical connection that guides her to a solution. The girl watches at the store while the merchant pours sugar into a brown paper bag providing the idea for building little bonfires, or lights made with bags, sugar and candles. These beautiful farolitos light the path for the Christmas celebration.

I was fortunate to meet the author, whom some may know from his adult books such as Bless Me Ultima, when I was teaching at Texas State University. I told him that I was so pleased to know the story of the little lanterns and asked how he learned about it. He laughed, saying, “I made it up.” I suppose the gift we give in writing fiction is to make others believe our stories are true. He certainly had me believing.

We simulate little lights in many ways. In our designs, certainly the bright faceted crystals sparkle to simulate light. Since I love a more natural, earthy look, one of my favorite sparkles is citrine, pictured in a double strand here. It reminds me of the color of the farolitos.

Sometimes we create our own lights. My mother had little lights sparkling in her eyes as she told me about her “date” at the nursing home and my friend sparkles when we talk about her upcoming marriage. Both of these occurrences put a little sparkle in my own smile.

Some of us buy our sparkles while others bring their own. Those that bring their own seem to pass them on as in the single candle that lights the others. Let’s just hope that in this season of tough weather, heavy traffic and busy schedules we can still “pass it own” with our own farolitos.

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Ending the Odds

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Do you ever feel as though you are just running in place? I often feel that way this time of year and I can’t even pretend to be like the proverbial duck who is smooth and unruffled above water and paddles like crazy below. I do not look or act unruffled!

Yesterday, I decided that part of the problem is that I have too many odds, as in odds and ends. Those are all those things that are lying around waiting to be finished. I used to have more follow-through and quickly finish whatever I started, but lately that hasn’t been the case. For example, I found 5 necklaces strewn about the work table just waiting for clasps. Several others lay about in various stages waiting for a piece to go through the patina process or a pendent to be wired. In one corner, I found several stacked containers of complimentary beads that were organized for projects and on the sewing machine, there were two garments cut out amidst the stack of mending. Obviously, I’ve not exactly been twiddling my thumbs, it’s just that the work had not reached fruition. So, with determination I commenced to finished things.

One afternoon later, the necklaces now have closures. Most of the beads in the containers have been put away (some of them were not so complimentary after all), and I even completed the mending. In other words, many of my odds now have ends.

There are many other areas of my ranch work, house work and bookkeeping that remain as odds with no current ends. I have no control over most of those until other things fall into place. I do, however, have control over my studio and it feels good to complete several creative tasks. This has given me a better outlook on things and although my web feet are still paddling like crazy, I think I’m looking more smooth and unruffled on the top. Let’s just hope my feet don’t get tired!

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Sinful Hammering

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Last night I picked up my largest hammer and smashed the beads!

It took a good deal of nerve and went against my usual routine of caring for the beads, but I did it anyway. It was the right thing to do.

I decided my relationship with those beads was an analogy to people relationships. Most of the time, you really nurture them, but occasionally, things just need a good whack, figuratively speaking. ( I don’t believe in violence.)

A customer mentioned that she was hunting a large black cross and, looking at all my earth colored offerings, said that she really liked burgundy, black and silver. Hmm . . . I guess my carnelian, turquoise and copper didn’t quite work. Figuring that if this person spoke up about wanting different colors there were probably others who were too timid to tell me, I launched a search to fill her desires.

I located a big silver plated cross at Paper Bear in San Marcos. It is the type with a reservoir for filling (a smaller one is pictured here). The problem became how to fill it. It tried various beads, chips, etc., but came up a loser. Finally, in desperation I saw my hammer and took action. First I tried to hammer black obsidian. I think the beads broke, but they went scurrying off the bench block so quickly, disappearing into the carpet, that I really can’t say how they turned out. Next, I tried hammering black onyx. Starting gently, not wanting to lose onyx like I did obsidian, I whacked the bead. Nothing . . . adding a bit more umph, I whacked again . . . nothing. I do believe that onyx is tougher than obsidian.

Now what? I hunted for black chips appropriate for smashing and finding none, I grabbed some Miyuki 4 mm cubes. I put them in a plastic sack and hammered. Those little guys are stronger than you think and punched holes in my sack before morphing into the small powder-like substance I wanted. Three punctured sacks later, I had the material for filling the cross. As the picture shows, the effect is rather unusual, but it certainly was a good deal of trouble. The cross will hang from a strand composed of sterling silver spacers, black onyx rounds and kiwi from Magpie Gemstones. I’m also thinking that the next time I decide to hammer beads, I’ll use the less expensive variety and a stronger sack.

Here’s the question. Is it a sin to hammer your beads? Someone or something worked hard to get them into their purchased shape and with a wham of the hammer, it can be gone.

I think it’s OK. I have a feeling there will be many sinners in bead heaven. Perhaps some will have done far worse things than hammering the beads. Here’s my philosophy . . . it’s better to take your frustrations out on your beads than on your family and friends. So, go ahead and WHACK!

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Pondering Patience

Filed under: Earrings, Philosophy, Wire Work | Back to: Homepage

‘Tis the season to rush about in the annual sprint to the end of the year. During this time, in particular, patience can be pushed to the limit. Aren’t we supposed to be happy as we secure just the right gifts for others – not upset because Target just sold the last xxx and we don’t know where to find another? Shouldn’t we enjoy decorating our abodes rather than wondering why in the world we purchased that ugly centerpiece during the 75% off after Christmas sale last year? And what about that cute Santa sweatshirt that you also got on sale last year, but wouldn’t be caught dead in this year?  Right now, I’m thinking that I should give myself a break and be patient with this year’s deadlines and disasters. (Maybe Goodwill would want the centerpiece and sweatshirt.)

Seeped in patience, I took my mother to have a tooth pulled early Monday morning. This involved early rising, driving to her nursing home in another town and driving back to my town to the dentist. All of this was accomplished in the rain. (Patience) Following a short 15 minute and $347 procedure, we were on the road back and forth one more time. Bless my mother and the dentist – all went well and I was back home shortly after noon. Patience paid off.

Continuing my effort to remain patient, I attempted to be productive and replenish my supply of “for sale” earrings. I wanted to make mixed metal designs which  seemed like an easy task. I arranged all the supplies in front of me, picked up my pliers and waited . . . for an idea. I waited and waited, but no great one appeared. While trying to ward off frustration, I rearranged my supplies thinking a juxtaposition might help. It didn’t! Then I remembered that I was supposed to be exercising patience; so I just sat.

Finally, following a long period of incubation, the earrings below hatched. I’m embarrassed to say that it took two hours to design a mere 3 pair of earrings. I did, however, learn again that being patient with yourself is important. While I don’t know if customers will like these earrings, I did accomplish the task I set out to complete. I do have mixed metal earrings.

Today, the need for patience continues. A morning of design work was halted by a phone call from the pasture about a newborn calf that needed help. Rather than griping, which was my first instinct, I drove to the store, secured the required materials and came home to help save a life. The newborn thankfully gulped down his bottle and nuzzled me as though I were his mother. He was much nicer than the one I helped last week who felt the need to kick me each time I gave her a bottle. Today’s calf will need my help every few hours for several days and I will patiently help him until nature allows his bovine mother to take over. I just hope she is also patient while I’m in the pen with her boy and doesn’t try to eliminate me.

This drawn out tale could, of course, go on and on. We all have episodes that call on our reserves, particularly at this time of the year. We could collectively paraphrase that old poem, How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways. When Do I Need Patience? Let Me Count the Ways. Yet, that would trivialize the need for this virtue. Let’s just leave it at “give yourself and others a break” and remember to breath. ‘tis the season!

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