Lampworking 101

I'm once again trying to challenge myself to DO something with all of these beads I'm making. So here's project #1--Easy Ivory and Copper Earrings. The lampwork I made. The findings including the copper rings I bought at Hobby Lobby. (Please please please only purchase when half off which is about every other week.) The filigree balls at the bottom I'll post on ebay along with a set of silvered ivory lampworked rounds. (If you don't have a Hobby Lobby near, holler and I'll help you obtain some.)

Sons and Daughters.

I have a great capacity towards self indulgence. The center of the universe is about two inches left of my couch. Occasionally I'm hurled into awareness. A friend's adult daughter is missing. A woman in her late thirties with over a decade's history of schizophrenia. She left Oklahoma and has puts thousands of miles on the family car driving in and out of New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, Arizona, and Kansas. Her gas card has well over a thousand dollars in charges from the last two weeks. Somewhere along the line she shaved her head. Last seen in Burlington Colorado, the sheriff's department put her up in a motel after she was evaluated as neither a danger to herself or society. On foot, now, she was gone the next morning.

Tomorrow family will leave Oklahoma and head for Burlington. Her father and her ex husband will travel together, pick up the vehicle she'd been driving and hopefully find and coerce her into coming home. Her sixteen year old daughter and mother are cleaning her house and waiting.

I don't know the lesson in this. I suspect it's that the connections between people must be present through marriage and through divorce. That the people you see mumbling and looking a little crazy, they're our daughters, mothers, sisters, wives, neighbors. That something as simple as taking your meds...isn't simple. Toss in a big pile of grateful. (There but for the grace of .....) Kindness to strangers. etc. etc. etc.

For me---I'll be making beads tonight. Riding my bike. And hugging the ex husband before he goes off looking for his daughter's mother. The woman he loved through a difficult marriage and still loves. Thankful for his big heart. And hoping she will be found.

Ohhhhhh MOM

It's true. We do turn into our mothers. And while this information doesn't force me into the spasms of hysterics it would have a decade ago, I still admit a little uncertainty with this process. For example: My mother as a child seemed to me VERY bold. Sure, the express lane at the grocery store stated a limit of 12 items. But my mother assured me that if you had 7 of the same item, it only counted as 1. If the commissary (army brat) was crowded, she'd have me wait in one lane and she in another, to see which moved faster. OR WORSE--she'd leave me waiting in line with the cart while she waltzed off to find a few more items. Now before you call security on me, I want to clarify--I do NONE of these. Well, ok...maybe just one of these. But today--when I answered the phone the caller said, "Who is this?" And instantly my mother's voice responded, "To whom do you wish to speak?" I lost every trace of the Southern accent I've cultivated for the last two decades...and no shit...my mother's clipped ohhhhh so proper voice waltzed out of my mouth. I'm 43. Only one or two gray hairs. Have probably raised children who are just a tad less psychotic than I am. But I'm now channeling my mother.

Life's Calling

There is nothing that forces me into a panic faster than a plumbing issue. I can handle phone calls at 3am, letters from the IRS, and "We need to talk," moments--but the minute water dribbles from where it shouldn't or ceases to pour from where it should--I turn into a babbling mess.

Tuesday I took a shower. (Whoa, fascinating, you did???) Upon completion I reached down to turn off the water and the tub spout fell off in my hand. The resulting arc of jetting water and rusted spout spelled certain disaster.

In North Carolina I had a plumber. He knew me. Well. He was aware of my sensitivities and paranoia about anything plumbing related. He spoke to me in a soothing voice. He was a GOD. In Oklahoma I was lost.

I trekked off to Lowes and pretended I was stupid. A roll of teflon tape and a new spout later I returned to the crime scene. I ascertained quickly (7 hours, and 4 breakdowns later) that the pipe was too rusted to screw on a new spout. (In a clockwise or counterclockwise direction.) I trekked back to Lowes. The returns lady took one look at me and practically threw money back at me. (Bless her.)

At the ungodly hour of 6 45 am the next morning--and $210.00 later, the problem was solved. Now here's the thing. Maybe I should have called a plumber first and avoided the hysteria. Plumbers are far superior to therapists in resolving a sense of personal well being. But I think if they came immediately and not after 7 hours of "Try," and 24-48 hours of sobbing, they'd be undervalued.

I once thought about going into the ministry...I was certain I had a calling. Now, I know I was clearly wrong. If so much joy can be spread by a man with a wrench--imagine what a woman who knew how to weld one could do.

Brambles

I went blackberry picking tonight.

A really brambly mess it was. And 2 hours later I have precisely enough to make a cobbler...which is always the best way to serve blackberries.

My beads are coming out crisper lately. More focused. Less wobbly.

I'm hoping as much for this cobbler!

One Hundred Percent Positive

My ebay feedback went back up to 100 percent this week. (A year ago I received 22 negatives from the same person, it sucked, I cried, etc.) One more example of "This too shall pass," coming to pass.

I finally weighed myself this week. 20 pounds lighter since I arrived in 107 degree Oklahoma. Apparently humidity is good for me.

Kristen

F.A.T.

I rode my bike tonight. About 6 miles. In 100 degree weather. And a kind and thoughtful young man informed me that I was fat. In fact, "Really fat." Now being a woman who is fully aware of both my size and the fact that he was standing still doing absolutely nothing--my response was a cool "Have ya looked in the mirror lately, sweetness?"

A year or so I probably wouldn't have said anything. And cried. A lot. But there's something about riding six miles that makes you both tougher and also less inclined to give a shit about what someone else thinks. And it's addictive--this sense of toughness. Not that I didn't consider running him over, mind you. And not that truly the best response would have been to smile and say, "Thank you. Have a good evening."

F.A.T. Freely Admitting Toughness