Sunset on Green Harbor, view from the Dyke.
Fond as I am of words, sometimes they are just unnecessary.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Sunset on Green Harbor
Sunset on Green Harbor, view from the Dyke.
Fond as I am of words, sometimes they are just unnecessary.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
New Beady Stuff
The fall auctions are fast approaching. Keep an eye on Mystic Beadwork for news and updates, and please consider giving generously to our upcoming auctions for Breast Cancer Research! On your right is another example of new work.
Below is a cut-away. To see the full image, check the link beneath.
CLICK TO VIEW FULL SIZE
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
A Twisted Bit of Freedom
Just the other day I was chatting with a friend I've known since grade school. We met on the playground on my first day of "big girl" school at Governor Winslow Elementary. We were friends then, and still are now. (That's 34 years, by the way.) His name is Pete.
Pete was lamenting the loss of noise in his house as his youngest went off to college this fall. I never had children. This was a conscious decision on my part. Ahmed and I used to discuss the possibility of adopting later on, but since my PF diagnosis this is out of the question. I found, during my battles with cancer in years past, that I was very, very glad to have made this decision. It left me with a certain degree of freedom. It eliminated a significant amount of fear.
When you face the possibility of leaving children behind you, death is not just the enemy. Death for a parent is more terror inspiring than the childless can ever imagine. I certainly can't even begin to fathom being terminally ill with a child.
So I was speaking along those lines with Pete, telling him how lucky I think he is to have had such great kids (John and Annie). The great thing about Petey-- one of them, anyway-- is that he is one of those parents who never gripes and always agrees with that premise. Yes, he knows he is lucky. Yes, they are great kids, aren't they? His eyes shine. I loved him before he became a dad, but when he talks about his kids my heart takes another breath for him, swells just a bit more.
I think people often misunderstand my decision not to have children. They mistake it for selfishness, a lack of maternal instinct, or a dislike for children. My fear and loathing of all things to do with infants is legendary. I do admit freely to being terrified of newborns. They're smushy and break easily. Those who love me often joke about it. Those who love me and KNOW me joke gently.
The truth is I could not have loved teaching so whole-heartedly if I didn't love kids. I could not have been such a hands-on, overprotective, maniac-proud aunt and godmother if I didn't love kids. I could certainly never have stayed in touch with dozens of students over the years (some still email me semi-daily even now-- hi Jenny, Tom, Marc, and Paula) if I didn't love kids.
I see so many good parents among my friends: Pete, Allie and Eamon, Maria and Mac, Dami, Marcus. So many outstanding mothers and fathers have shown me what the true spirit of parenting really is. What troubles me is how often I see it go utterly wrong. People sometimes have children so that they can feel something within themselves... so that they can fill an emptiness. People sometimes have children in a misguided attempt to save bad marriages. People within families compete to have the first boy... first girl... first genius... first sports star.
For every stellar parent I know I can name five who are tragic examples.
Being a parent is the hardest job on earth. It's ironic that so many people who make the choice NOT to take on a responsibility of such serious weight and consequence are often snickered at or dismissed as flawed. I've had one woman giggle over my choice, posing the theory that I am a closet lesbian, and spreading gossip with a sort of uneducated, rabid fervor.
Petey thinks it's funny. "If you were gay you'd be the outest gay in the history of gaydom," is how he responded. He's probably right. I support gay rights anyway. If I were actually gay I'd probably be some kind of lesbian terrorist. I'm not exactly sure what a lesbian terrorist would do, but it would probably involve hair clippers and jailhouse porn... or something. Err.
I might be bothered by it, but she screams at and slaps her kids, rarely spends free time with them, and makes bad decisions almost daily that effect their lives negatively. If I thought DYS competent enough to recognize her subtle kind of abuse I'd have called already. I wish spanking were a crime. I wish spending money on trinkets while your kids have no college fund were a crime. I wish women like her were forced at gun point to have their tubes tied and give up the beautiful children they are quietly, gradually warping with their selfishness. But wishes ain't horses, so I'm out of manure.
"You would have made an incredible mom," Pete said to me just the other day.
Anyone who knows me-- really knows me-- would agree. But I also would have made a late mom, having found Ahmed as I approached middle age. And I would have made a rather sad mom, having faced so many battles with my body during what would have been a child's formative years. And I would have made a widow of my childrens' father. And any children I had would be motherless before they finished high school.
But I had no children.
It may be hard to understand, but there is a blessed freedom in that. All the children I love (so many-- I've been lucky, too) will have parents when I go. They will have someone to soften the blow of losing an aunt or godmother who was important, but not vital, in their lives. I can give them fun. I can provide 20 bucks when mom or dad are in a pinch. I can tell them stories and give them a shoulder to cry on when they don't want a parent. I can shove them toward mom or dad when they DO-- even if they don't know it. But I am not responsible for college funds or medical insurance. I am a bonus, not a requirement.
Their parents are not. Even bad parents are not. The sad thing is that some mothers and fathers never completely grasp the fierceness of their importance.
Was I too selfish for children? My god, how selfish would I have been to become a mother without truly considering the motherless ones I would leave behind?
Weirdly, long before I had a terminal disease, my favorite poem predicted some of my current issues, attitudes, and understandings. It's Dylan Thomas-- but not the one you're thinking of. I'll share it here:
Fern Hill
by Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
The sun is, indeed, only young once. We are green and golden, and lucky to be suffered by Time's graces. And I, for one, am very grateful to leave only Ahmed behind, really. Only my poor Aji will have a great hole in his life, but he is very strong. We are all young and easy in the mercy of his means. I am grateful, indeed, for my twisted bit of freedom, to sing alone in my chains with a wise, worldly audience of one.
Pete was lamenting the loss of noise in his house as his youngest went off to college this fall. I never had children. This was a conscious decision on my part. Ahmed and I used to discuss the possibility of adopting later on, but since my PF diagnosis this is out of the question. I found, during my battles with cancer in years past, that I was very, very glad to have made this decision. It left me with a certain degree of freedom. It eliminated a significant amount of fear.
When you face the possibility of leaving children behind you, death is not just the enemy. Death for a parent is more terror inspiring than the childless can ever imagine. I certainly can't even begin to fathom being terminally ill with a child.
So I was speaking along those lines with Pete, telling him how lucky I think he is to have had such great kids (John and Annie). The great thing about Petey-- one of them, anyway-- is that he is one of those parents who never gripes and always agrees with that premise. Yes, he knows he is lucky. Yes, they are great kids, aren't they? His eyes shine. I loved him before he became a dad, but when he talks about his kids my heart takes another breath for him, swells just a bit more.
I think people often misunderstand my decision not to have children. They mistake it for selfishness, a lack of maternal instinct, or a dislike for children. My fear and loathing of all things to do with infants is legendary. I do admit freely to being terrified of newborns. They're smushy and break easily. Those who love me often joke about it. Those who love me and KNOW me joke gently.
The truth is I could not have loved teaching so whole-heartedly if I didn't love kids. I could not have been such a hands-on, overprotective, maniac-proud aunt and godmother if I didn't love kids. I could certainly never have stayed in touch with dozens of students over the years (some still email me semi-daily even now-- hi Jenny, Tom, Marc, and Paula) if I didn't love kids.
I see so many good parents among my friends: Pete, Allie and Eamon, Maria and Mac, Dami, Marcus. So many outstanding mothers and fathers have shown me what the true spirit of parenting really is. What troubles me is how often I see it go utterly wrong. People sometimes have children so that they can feel something within themselves... so that they can fill an emptiness. People sometimes have children in a misguided attempt to save bad marriages. People within families compete to have the first boy... first girl... first genius... first sports star.
For every stellar parent I know I can name five who are tragic examples.
Being a parent is the hardest job on earth. It's ironic that so many people who make the choice NOT to take on a responsibility of such serious weight and consequence are often snickered at or dismissed as flawed. I've had one woman giggle over my choice, posing the theory that I am a closet lesbian, and spreading gossip with a sort of uneducated, rabid fervor.
Petey thinks it's funny. "If you were gay you'd be the outest gay in the history of gaydom," is how he responded. He's probably right. I support gay rights anyway. If I were actually gay I'd probably be some kind of lesbian terrorist. I'm not exactly sure what a lesbian terrorist would do, but it would probably involve hair clippers and jailhouse porn... or something. Err.
I might be bothered by it, but she screams at and slaps her kids, rarely spends free time with them, and makes bad decisions almost daily that effect their lives negatively. If I thought DYS competent enough to recognize her subtle kind of abuse I'd have called already. I wish spanking were a crime. I wish spending money on trinkets while your kids have no college fund were a crime. I wish women like her were forced at gun point to have their tubes tied and give up the beautiful children they are quietly, gradually warping with their selfishness. But wishes ain't horses, so I'm out of manure.
"You would have made an incredible mom," Pete said to me just the other day.
Anyone who knows me-- really knows me-- would agree. But I also would have made a late mom, having found Ahmed as I approached middle age. And I would have made a rather sad mom, having faced so many battles with my body during what would have been a child's formative years. And I would have made a widow of my childrens' father. And any children I had would be motherless before they finished high school.
But I had no children.
It may be hard to understand, but there is a blessed freedom in that. All the children I love (so many-- I've been lucky, too) will have parents when I go. They will have someone to soften the blow of losing an aunt or godmother who was important, but not vital, in their lives. I can give them fun. I can provide 20 bucks when mom or dad are in a pinch. I can tell them stories and give them a shoulder to cry on when they don't want a parent. I can shove them toward mom or dad when they DO-- even if they don't know it. But I am not responsible for college funds or medical insurance. I am a bonus, not a requirement.
Their parents are not. Even bad parents are not. The sad thing is that some mothers and fathers never completely grasp the fierceness of their importance.
Was I too selfish for children? My god, how selfish would I have been to become a mother without truly considering the motherless ones I would leave behind?
Weirdly, long before I had a terminal disease, my favorite poem predicted some of my current issues, attitudes, and understandings. It's Dylan Thomas-- but not the one you're thinking of. I'll share it here:
Fern Hill
by Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
The sun is, indeed, only young once. We are green and golden, and lucky to be suffered by Time's graces. And I, for one, am very grateful to leave only Ahmed behind, really. Only my poor Aji will have a great hole in his life, but he is very strong. We are all young and easy in the mercy of his means. I am grateful, indeed, for my twisted bit of freedom, to sing alone in my chains with a wise, worldly audience of one.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Cab Crazy !
Recently I discovered a great supplier of good, large cabochon gem stones. I absolutely love working with cabs, since they are quick to work up and always look terrific for the work.
Soon I have some craft fairs lined up and will be selling for both profit and charity. Take a look... more to come:
click
the images to see the full size
Soon I have some craft fairs lined up and will be selling for both profit and charity. Take a look... more to come:
 |  |  |
 |
click
the images to see the full size
Phil Donahue on the warpath
While I do find Bill O'Reilly fun to watch, I also often find him arrogant and intolerant of anyone who makes a decent point with which he disagrees. We can all be cranky about the possibility of losing a debate, so I understand. As a socially liberal conservative he annoys me sometimes.
Still... I tune in.
Imagine my salivating glee over the recent Donahue debacle. Phil Donahue, once an innocuous (if often shrill) media icon has, in recent years, become so blatantly ridiculous in his views that even the left is shuffling to the right to avoid him, refusing to make eye contact.
Donahue was on the Factor to defend Cindy Sheehan, a woman who loved her son so much she is spending all her free time completely invalidating his choices as an adult male while her mother slowly wastes away without any direct contact from her. So you know-- she's obviously a swell gal.
What I found so interesting about the appearance was not any point made by Donahue (he didn't make any), but his aggressive, belligerent manner. The normally short-fused O'Reilly repeatedly found himself shouted down by a rather hysterical Donahue, who shouted, pointed, and childishly continued to goad O'Reilly by calling him "Billy." While O'Reilly did, at one point, lose his temper and become very overheated, it was in response to a rather personal (and pointless) question that hit too close to home-- literally. Donahue had no right to drag families into the conversation. It's a tactic employed by poor debaters and cheap hacks.
The irony of a man who claims to be working for peace so diligently appearing so rabidly offensive, combative, and physically overwrought is thicker than a whale omelet. I mean, this is some serious irony. It could cure anemia.
Donahue, like Michael Moore and Al Franken, has lost touch with reality. He seemed intent on causing O'Reilly to vapor lock in anger and either take a swing at him or throw him off the set. It was a clear case of bear baiting.
Kudos to Bill O'Reilly for reigning in his temper. Donahue looked like a schoolyard brat with low SAT scores who thinks his big trust fund makes him equal to his betters. He is, to put it more directly, a rather dull snob trying to pick a fight. Thank goodness O'Reilly's manners-- and, at least this time, his emotional control-- were far better.
Still... I tune in.
Imagine my salivating glee over the recent Donahue debacle. Phil Donahue, once an innocuous (if often shrill) media icon has, in recent years, become so blatantly ridiculous in his views that even the left is shuffling to the right to avoid him, refusing to make eye contact.
Donahue was on the Factor to defend Cindy Sheehan, a woman who loved her son so much she is spending all her free time completely invalidating his choices as an adult male while her mother slowly wastes away without any direct contact from her. So you know-- she's obviously a swell gal.
What I found so interesting about the appearance was not any point made by Donahue (he didn't make any), but his aggressive, belligerent manner. The normally short-fused O'Reilly repeatedly found himself shouted down by a rather hysterical Donahue, who shouted, pointed, and childishly continued to goad O'Reilly by calling him "Billy." While O'Reilly did, at one point, lose his temper and become very overheated, it was in response to a rather personal (and pointless) question that hit too close to home-- literally. Donahue had no right to drag families into the conversation. It's a tactic employed by poor debaters and cheap hacks.
The irony of a man who claims to be working for peace so diligently appearing so rabidly offensive, combative, and physically overwrought is thicker than a whale omelet. I mean, this is some serious irony. It could cure anemia.
Donahue, like Michael Moore and Al Franken, has lost touch with reality. He seemed intent on causing O'Reilly to vapor lock in anger and either take a swing at him or throw him off the set. It was a clear case of bear baiting.
Kudos to Bill O'Reilly for reigning in his temper. Donahue looked like a schoolyard brat with low SAT scores who thinks his big trust fund makes him equal to his betters. He is, to put it more directly, a rather dull snob trying to pick a fight. Thank goodness O'Reilly's manners-- and, at least this time, his emotional control-- were far better.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
The Sharks Are Always Circling
As most people who would be reading this know, I have recently donated a large amount of jewelry for auctions to benefit the Hurricane Katrina relief effort. It was something that I wanted very much to do. I felt really good about doing it.
I had seen the warnings on television about scams. Isn't that awful, I thought. Lucky me, I did it the smart and safe way.
Hah.
Yesterday my 12 year old neice got a phone call at her house asking for me. They had my name close, but wrong, and told her it was about my auctions for charity on ebay. It's a very, very good thing all the children in my family are extremely smart. The guy (Carlos) asked for my cell phone number. Smarty-kid took his number down, cool as a cucumber.
Now... the ONLY way this joker could have gotten her home number was dialing 411 and asking for listings with my last name in my home town. Every person in my home town with the same last name is a relative. I have three married brothers with two kids each. We live within a few miles of one another.
I deliver the brilliant child to her Nana's house, where another message from our buddy Carlos is waiting.
After a day of contacting Mission Fish (the charity organization), eBAY, the FTC, the FCC, the cybercrimes unit of the FBI, my attorney general, and Carlos himself, I discovered not only what laws were broken (several) but by whom.
Carlos, who didn't know my first name (and still doesn't), but knew my last name, did a search online. He got my website, saw the charity announcement, and figured he could definitely get me on the phone by mentioning it. Turns out he works for one of those annoying credit agencies and gets paid more money for each contract he finalizes.
Though I see no shame in owing money, I would also like to note that I don't owe Carlos or his employers any. The agency had my name from a magazine subscription that was accidentally renewed, then cancelled. My attorney general assures me I owe them no money. Because they sent it to a collection agency BEFORE they were informed of this, however, my lack of debt got lost in the shuffle. The bill was, if I remember correctly, $17.98.
Moral of the story? IF YOU HAVE AUCTIONS ON EBAY AND YOUR NAME IS PUBLICLY SHOWN BE VERY CAREFUL!
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Anguisette reports Hate on ICQ IRC #witches
Anguisette (Mysti) is reporting hate spew on ICQ's IRC channel #wicca. We have the logs. They will be up on the tank site soon.
Review her notes on her blog:
http://anguisette.blogspot.com
STOP THE HATE! RETALIATE!
Review her notes on her blog:
http://anguisette.blogspot.com
STOP THE HATE! RETALIATE!
Friday, September 09, 2005
New Writers' Links
I have yet to add them to my resources list on christineolinger.com, but on the right you will see a new section including sites for writers. It's short, and mainly focuses on critique and workshop sites.
If you have links for either my large resource database or this blog, please send them to me @ chrissy@christineolinger.com.
Thanks and enjoy!
If you have links for either my large resource database or this blog, please send them to me @ chrissy@christineolinger.com.
Thanks and enjoy!
I miss it, too
I recently had two rather synchronistic things happen.
First, I joined an online romance writer's group. Since I am making my first foray into a new genre I wanted to have a support and reference group backing me up.
Second, I got a minor flood of emails from people who belonged to my old writer's group, THE CRUCIBLE, asking if I was going to re-open it.
The weird thing about this-- and part of the irony and synchronicity-- is that I would never have enough time to actually WRITE if I ran THE CRUCIBLE again; but I haven't received a decent critique (outside of those from my actual editors) since we closed it.
One of the hardest lessons I had to learn as a writer was how addicted we all are to avoiding our work. We find wonderfully creative ways to waste weeks on research that won't be used, brainstorming that is more drizzle than downpour, and revising that's really nothing more than long, slow denial. Anything that needs that much correction shouldn't be hogging space on your hard-drive.
Most critiquing groups are mutual admiration societies or bloated with writers who never move forward. There are nuggets of wisdom here and there, but most of it is "wow I loved it," or "here's some advice that has nothing to do with the actual content of your piece." How many of us have given an honest review of another writer's work that was met with forced good grace only to get backlash soon after in the form of a poorly executed slashing of your next offering on the altar of group input?
I hear your cries, former crucibites! If my health were better I swear I'd re-open. But I do, sincerely, want to write at a deeper pace, and I want fewer distractions at least for the moment.
Let me make an offer. Anyone interested in running it can contact me and I will pay for a domain, set up the site, and hand it over. I'll be your most loyal member, too. (Pssst... Maria... you would be REALLY good at this!)
In the mean time-- and for all time-- keep in touch. I miss all of YOU, too.
First, I joined an online romance writer's group. Since I am making my first foray into a new genre I wanted to have a support and reference group backing me up.
Second, I got a minor flood of emails from people who belonged to my old writer's group, THE CRUCIBLE, asking if I was going to re-open it.
The weird thing about this-- and part of the irony and synchronicity-- is that I would never have enough time to actually WRITE if I ran THE CRUCIBLE again; but I haven't received a decent critique (outside of those from my actual editors) since we closed it.
One of the hardest lessons I had to learn as a writer was how addicted we all are to avoiding our work. We find wonderfully creative ways to waste weeks on research that won't be used, brainstorming that is more drizzle than downpour, and revising that's really nothing more than long, slow denial. Anything that needs that much correction shouldn't be hogging space on your hard-drive.
Most critiquing groups are mutual admiration societies or bloated with writers who never move forward. There are nuggets of wisdom here and there, but most of it is "wow I loved it," or "here's some advice that has nothing to do with the actual content of your piece." How many of us have given an honest review of another writer's work that was met with forced good grace only to get backlash soon after in the form of a poorly executed slashing of your next offering on the altar of group input?
I hear your cries, former crucibites! If my health were better I swear I'd re-open. But I do, sincerely, want to write at a deeper pace, and I want fewer distractions at least for the moment.
Let me make an offer. Anyone interested in running it can contact me and I will pay for a domain, set up the site, and hand it over. I'll be your most loyal member, too. (Pssst... Maria... you would be REALLY good at this!)
In the mean time-- and for all time-- keep in touch. I miss all of YOU, too.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Bid on EBAY to Help Fuzzies!!
Please check out the auction below to aid animals affected by Hurricane Katrina:
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=5031129859
Sneak Preview:
Large (40mm X 30mm) rhodochrosite stone with all genuine embellishments including hematite, gunmetal crystals, and GORGEOUS silver blush pearls.
BID GENEROUSLY!!
If you are a collective member please add a copy of this message to your blog or site.
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=5031129859
Sneak Preview:
Large (40mm X 30mm) rhodochrosite stone with all genuine embellishments including hematite, gunmetal crystals, and GORGEOUS silver blush pearls.
BID GENEROUSLY!!
If you are a collective member please add a copy of this message to your blog or site.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
FINALLY!! Mastering the Spiral
I DID IT!
For about 10 years I have been trying to learn how to do a spiral stitch in beadwork. Every tutorial left me weeping or breaking things. Every attempt left me with a mangled mess.
I am severely dysgraphic-- a form of dyslexia that is more challenging with math and graphs than written text. I am fine left to right on a horizon. I'm not too bad vertically. Go diagonal on me and I'm a bit nervous, but ok.
Switch it up and I actually feel a migraine and a very real sense of discomfort-- sometimes even panic. Math problems that reversed direction or moved numbers or letters in any way on the page always left me needing an ice pack and confounded me for many years. I managed to pass basic Math in college thanks to a brilliant teacher named Tom Moore but I never did master modern algebra more than passably.
Anyway... Mary Springwell, who is a genius and one of the people I love most in the world, taught me the spiral by making the instructions idiot-proof. With her permission we have put up a link to those instructions on the Mystic Beadwork page. You, too, can survive SPIRAL:
SPIRAL TUTORIAL
Friday, September 02, 2005
Katrina Auctions-- PLEASE HELP!
I have donated four auctions on ebay via Mystic Beadwork. Please donate! These are really nice items and starting at a low reserve. All good crystals and natural gemstones/pearls:
Smoky Pearl Earring and Necklace Set
Smoky Pearl and Crystal Toggle Bracelet
Rose Quartz and Celtic Knot Toggle Bracelet
Lampwork Bead and Smoky Pearl Toggle Bracelet (small-size 6)
Special thanks to Maria, who purchased the necklace below at a rather ridiculous price to be donated by her to Americare:
Smoky Pearl Earring and Necklace Set
Smoky Pearl and Crystal Toggle Bracelet
Rose Quartz and Celtic Knot Toggle Bracelet
Lampwork Bead and Smoky Pearl Toggle Bracelet (small-size 6)
Special thanks to Maria, who purchased the necklace below at a rather ridiculous price to be donated by her to Americare:
