Narcissistic Sundays #2 Music School

When I went away to college, I had a bit of a difficult time adjusting. Suddenly, the world opened wide, and I had no idea of which way to turn. I came from a very strict family who never allowed me to explore much, so when I had the freedom and the ability to explore, I did so with a vengeance.

My exploration was not in the way some kids “explore” when coming from an overly strict home. I was not into drinking and partying as you might guess. Alcohol was never a big thing for me since I was able to have an occasional beer or glass of wine at home since my early teens. I never understood the fascination of getting drunk. As for the other “party aids”, it was not me either. I just wanted to experience everything the college had to offer. Every class, every subject sounded incredibly fascinating to me. I wanted to learn everything.

In that zeal to learn, I overloaded myself. A load of 19 units was average for me. One semester, I carried 21. Way too much for anyone. As a music major, the additional demands of practicing added to my time demands. Three hours per day MINIMUM was what was demanded, and I was studying both the violin and minored on the alto sax. It left little time for much else. Every moment of every day was spoken for. I took everything from German Literature, to Astronomy, to geology, studies of non western music (where I helped hammer out and tune steel drums) , being on the Volleyball team, Field Hockey Team, in addition to my required classes in Music

theory, music history, studio lessons, and being in the Catskill Symphony Orchestra. If I could fit the class and activity in, I would take it!

I spent a lot of time in the practice room. I had several recitals that were part of my requirements as being a music major. I have toured both with the college band and the Catskill Symphony. I loved playing music, and my fellow musicians!

During my second year of college, I ran out of money. My parents were not helping me with my tuition, and they earned too much money for me to get a scholarship (not that they were rich, we were just in that zone where I was left on a limb, financially speaking). I was fearful of the burdens of a huge college loan, so I made a painful decision to stop school for a semester to work and return that fall. Even my professors told me that they were disappointed that I had to stop school for a while. They did all they could to make me promise to return.

It was during my time away from college that I worked for a small printing shop. It was my job to put staples in the spine of small booklets (Saddle Stitch). The wire was fed through a 7 ft tall machine machine, and with a foot pedal, the industrial stapler would staple the book as I held the booklet in place on a metal inverted V shaped holder. Ka-Chunk, Ka-Chunk!! Two staples for each booklet.

The machine had no guards to keep my fingers out of the way. One day, as I hit the foot pedal, the machine with all its industrial force met the index finger of my left hand. Once it hit, I remember thinking, “Shit, this is NOT good”.

With my mangled finger dripping blood, the end of it held on by the thick staple, I calmly walked past a pressman. I was so embarrassed that something so dumb happened to me. I calmly said to him as I walked by on my way to the ladies room “I think I need some help”.

The pressman looked at me…”HOLY SHIT”!!! His panic sent me into a panic, where before I just felt confused (and embarrassed). I sat on the toilet, with my finger bleeding in the sink that was right next to the toilet. Not knowing what to do (gee at 20, you don’t always think too well) I sat there crying. I had gone into shock.

Long story short, on this, they were able to pull out the heavy duty staple and save the end of my finger through some medical miracle. I had 12 stitches around the end of my index finger holding it in place.

Once my shock wore off, the pain of my finger was about all I could bare. That is, until the realization of what that mangled finger truly meant. The intensity of the pain of my poor finger could not match the pain of my soul. I had to face the fact that I could no longer play the violin, at least not under the demands of a student violinist, let alone a professional violinist. Even today, my finger is still “weird”. If I were to try to play for any length of time, it would still be extraordinarily uncomfortable. Even if I tried today, I could never be a good violinist, not even as good as I was back then.

I needed to consider a change of career. I needed to think about what I would do since being a violinist was no longer an option. It pained me to think that I could no longer play my violin as I was used to. It was all I knew. It was what I loved above anything else I could think of. It was like losing a lover when you weren’t ready for that loss. Still to this day, there are times when I am hit with the longing and a sadness for my old violin.

Since I could not wallow in self-pity, I had to come up with some sort of plan. I did not want to stay in Glens Falls. There was little to do there, and I saw no future for me. I had to consider another career. One at the top of my list was to study languages, as being an interpreter and traveling appealed to me. But there was something that was cold and uninviting about Albany State. I could not see myself at a campus designed for Saudi Arabia, engineered to channel wind through its campus in a cold wintery climate (this is a true fact). I was at a loss of where to go and what to do.

Then, while overhearing a conversation two students were having about going to school for animal husbandry to learn about horses, that idea won me over. I knew nothing of horses, but I knew I loved them. What girl doesn’t? The idea of learning about horses for 2 years at the Ag and Tech college and then going on to Cornell to become a veterinarian sounded like a great plan!

Don't Forget....

The Holiday rush and madness is in full swing. Shopping at the malls, baking cookies, writing Holiday cards, buying and decorating a tree, standing in line at the PO to mail gifts, and on and on it goes. It’s enough to make you breathless, and in the midst of it all, we forget what should be important to us.

My life tends to spin out of control many times throughout the year. The Holiday season is not much different in its taxing volume of demands, just the demands themselves are different. I work full time, I come home to keep my “business” going, there is housework to be done, show applications to fill out, shows to do, classes to teach, bills to pay, dinner to cook, grocery shopping to do…and the list is never ending. Adding to my stress list of chores and work to be done, are financial considerations. Being the sole bearer of financial responsibilities in my household has its toll on my stress burdens, and at times my mood as well. It is easy when we get overburdened to lose our focus on what we should focus on.

One day goes into the next, and what is truly important gets ignored. Much like driving 50 miles per hour in a 35 zone, you see the signs that you are going to fast, you know you should slow down. But you don’t. Not until you are derailed by something or someone who stops you. Then you curse yourself for not taking heed. Now, because of a single event, you are forced to change your habits and take heed of the sign that told you that you were going too fast.

I have come to a certain realization that I too, go to fast, worry too much and try to do too much. I have been told, “enjoy what’s now, it’s bound not to last”. Yet, I needed to keep at my fast pace, even though I valued the wisdom of the sage who continually tells me to stop working so hard and just relax so that we can enjoy the “now”.

Life has its way of forcing you to change. Sometimes the forced change comes with regret, other times with hope that it is not too late to reset your priorities on what is really important and to try to make some positive change. Perhaps there is time to vow to keep mindful on what is

really important. The time has come for me to reflect on what and who is important to me before it is too late.

As you know from my post “My Little Girl” my daughter Jasmine is important to me.

She has been my constant companion and friend through many tough years. I am proud of the young lady she has become. I value our time together in ways she will never understand until she has her own children. I worked hard to have a relationship with her, which I could never have with my own parents. Every moment we have together is precious. I miss her terribly when she is not here with me.

Steve, who has also been my friend, confidant and a true love. He has loved me despite the fact that I am no Barbie Doll, he has loved me despite my extra pounds. He

has loved me despite my grumpy moods when pressures got the best of me. He has never been demanding, and is always happy with what little we had to get by at times. He is my #1 fan of my cooking and cheerleader for everything I try to do, and everything I dare to dream. I love how he calls me at work to interrupt the drudgeries of my office duties when I am chained to my desk. I love how happy he is when I walk in the door at the end of my work day. He has loved me as unconditionally as any human can.

I love my friends, especially Lorilee and Gauri who in a short time have come to mean so much to me. Friends like them are hard to find. They make me laugh, they make me think. I cannot think of two finer ladies.

I am thankful that I have my day job despite our 15% decrease in salary due to our furloughs. So many have lost their jobs, with little to no hope of finding a replacement. I can still meet my financial obligations, as tough as it is becoming.

Despite the occasional aches and pains I feel as I am getting older, I am thankful that I still enjoy good health. Without that, there is nothing. But still, I need to remind myself to take better care of myself.

I know it’s a cliché, but don’t let the Holidays become a mad frenzy of obligations and stress that you forget what it is this season truly celebrates. The gift of love and joy, family and friends are the most important gift we have.

The Magic Yellow Bowl

I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know if it was a gift or if I bought it. I don’t even know when it first appeared in my kitchen, but I am sure of this, the Yellow Bowl is magic. It has its own personality, and certainly has its share of stories. It holds an almost revered place in my household, and certainly in my heart, and in my daughter’s heart.

The Yellow Bowl has seen it’s share of cake batter, cookie batter, yeast dough, salads and marinades. It has also held change as we counted out our pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters as we scraped up our money from the change jars to buy food for our meals when times were extraordinarily lean. It held multitudes of beads, as I sorted out a mish-mash of odd beads. But most of all, the Magic Yellow Bowl holds warm happy memories of my daughter and me cooking and baking together. And of my family enjoying the fruits of our labors.

Having had it’s early beginnings with us in New York State, it was the bowl that was used for many of the meals I created. It served as a mixing bowl as well as a serving bowl. It is of an ample enough size to hold most anything I created. Its color makes it easy to find in my cupboard. There was no other Yellow Bowl in my possession. I know now that there never can be.

The Yellow Bowl was wrapped in newspaper and boxed carefully for our cross country move. I did not know at that time how important a place it would have in our home and hearts. It survived the train ride from New York to California when we made our move to the unknown.

As Jasmine grew from a baby to a toddler, she quickly learned that when the Yellow Bowl came out of the cupboard, something wonderful was going to be made that was beyond the ingredients that went into the bowl. She loved helping me cook and bake, it was our special time together. When I would reach for another bowl to work with, she would cry, “No, Mommy, I want the Yellow Bowl!”

Over the years, the Yellow Bowl gained a special place in our hearts. We loved that Yellow Bowl. When a roommate once took the bowl, claiming it belonged to her, Jasmine was in hysterics. She wanted our Yellow Bowl back. Upon hearing that the Yellow Bowl was taken by my roommate, and that there was no convincing her of the fact that it belonged to Jasmine and me, I felt a loss. It was almost like losing a beloved pet.

When the roommate was gone for the day, I did something that is against my principles. I went into her room and stole the Yellow Bowl back. Jasmine and I cried with joy to have it back. We hugged it, and hid it away.

The Yellow Bowl helped us with create Thanksgiving Dinner today, as always. I think it knows it has an honored place in our home and in our hearts. Jasmine and I laugh over some of our Yellow Bowl stories. There are some Yellow Bowl stories, that make me sad. But in the end, the Yellow Bowl remains a symbol of fun and of love.

One day, the Yellow Bowl will belong to Jasmine. One day, Jasmine and the Yellow Bowl will create magic with Jasmine’s own children. The magic will only grow as we tell our tales of the Magic Yellow Bowl.

May you too, have your own Magic Bowl, no matter what the color is, no matter what the size. I wish that your Magic Bowl will overflow with the same love and happiness that our Yellow Bowl has. And may your Magic Bowl always have an abundance to share.

Happy Holidays to all my friends and readers.

Pre-Used, Pre-Owned or Antique?

Is it me, or do you too hate new “catchy phrases” that everyone seems to use? I know we used “cool” and “far-out” in the 70’s. I can’t tell you what we used in the 80’s and 90’s, guess I just wasn’t “with it”

These generational expressions aren’t what get to me. In the number one pet peeve spot in my gag-me dictionary is the phrase “pre used” or its synonym “pre-owned”. I can’t tell you why it bothers me, but it does.

I am sure you have heard commercials by the car dealers about their “pre-owned” vehicles. They do their best to make it sound like a USED car (let’s just call it what it is, ok?) is something wonderful. Perhaps the USED car is better than new. (No I am not knocking used cars, only the terminology). Being Pre-Owned (not used) is intended to make you think that a service has been done for you, and this service is a benefit. A car with 50K miles that is PRE- OWNED is so much better than a USED car that has 50K miles. Don’t you think so? At least the dealers are hoping that you will take it that way. Maybe the sucker who bought the car NEW

worked out all the kinks, to break it in and made it a better car than when it was new. That way you won't get butt-blisters from sitting in a too new car seat or something.

The other day, as I was cued in line at the video store, I noticed a rack of “Pre-used” (no, not pre-viewed or “used”) videos for sale. Again, the word USED on its own was avoided like we would avoid a restaurant where Typhoid Mary was the chef.

Do we ever see “Pre owned” beads? Not even the antique beads that were once owned by someone in times gone by are called pre-owned. Perhaps that is because in order to be pre-owned, the pre-owner should still be alive? I am just assuming this. I don’t claim that is a prerequisite for the “Antique” distinction. But it makes sense to me. The pre-owner of the pre-used car, is likely still alive, as is the pre-owner of the pre-used video, neither of which are called antiques.

When would a bead become “pre-used”? Would it become “pre-owned”? What about the difference in distinction of “antique” and “vintage”? Is the pre-owner of a “vintage” bead still alive and growing rather long in the tooth? And the Pre-owner of the Antique bead pushing up daisies?

What about “nearly new”? Isn’t being "new" something like being dead, or pregnant? Either you are or are not. There is no nearly pregnant. Ok, perhaps the nearly dead description works, but I don’t want to become morbid, so you got me on that one. But still “Nearly new”? What?? Did someone touch it? And because of that, it is no longer virginal? No longer untouched? No longer NEW? I really don’t get the nearly new phrase.

If I stitch beads into my project and then rip out 10 rows (which I have done before), do the beads I re-stitch become “pre-used”? I did use them in several rows, then stitched them again into my project so I did "use" them more than once, technically speaking. What if I didn’t re-use all the beads in the same project, but they wound up in another project, would they now become “pre-used”?

I know what you are thinking. I need a life and something else to think about. I am being absurd.

But that is my mind….absurd and crazy. Maybe my brain was once pre-used….

Gotta run, and stop by Goodwill, for some stuff that is, well, you know….SECOND HAND!!

Tipsy Tuesday, 11/24/09 Choosing Colors

This week’s “Tipsy Tuesdays” question is from Cheryl Benhardt. She earns a free pattern of her choice for submitting a question for Norm, Barney and me to answer.

You can earn a free pattern too! Just send in a question about beading, beads, cooking, or anything you like. If we use your question, you get a pattern of your choice. In the case of duplicate questions, the first submitter will earn the pattern. Go ahead, challenge us! J

Here is Cheryl’s question:

How do you choose such nice color combinations? I am color coordinating "challenged" and consult my teenage daughters for advice when I am selecting beads for a project. Do you use a color wheel? Did you take a class? Do you have a favorite book you can recommend? How do you decide whether to use a matte, silver lined, or transparent bead? Any advice you can give me will be truly appreciated.

(Honestly, I am not trying to bomb you with questions.)

Thanks so much for your (and Norm & Barney's) help.

My Response:

I have never taken an art class, other than an art appreciation class. I have no formal training at all in art.

I do not pay attention to color wheels, I don’t even like the concept. Art should come from the heart and from what you as the creator of that art find appealing. I find that color wheels and that type of rule making tends to make art too technical. In my opinion, art is supposed to be rule free, spontaneous, at the full whim of the artist.

I choose color combinations based on what I like that day. I will lay beads together in their packages. If I like that combination, I will use them. If I am in a real rut, I will just reach into my box of mixed up tubes of beads and pick 5 random tubes (if I need 3 different colors) then I will eliminate 2 of them. Sometimes this gives odd color combinations that turn out really fun.

The color choices I use while designing a piece, particularly in complicated designs, take a lot more thought. Bead Design Programs WILL NOT do a good job for you all by themselves, no matter which program you use. If you try to import an image for the program to chart, it will always look like crap. You MUST “repaint” the whole pattern to get it to look right. I see too many designers who just don’t take the time to do this, and it shows. (And I have gotten lots of emails complaining about these poor designs too!).

Programs do not make distinctions between opaque, transparent and other finishes. This choice alone can change your pattern from ho-hum to spectacular, since it can give depth to your image, or it can ruin it, depending on how these finishes are used. I use matte beads for when I want that portion of the design to be prominent. I use transparent for areas that I want to recede (like the sky) or to resemble the translucency of water. Silver lined when I really want things to be shinny.

Sometimes though, I have no choice in using a particular finish of bead. The color I need will only be in that one finish. So, my general rules for use of a particular finish of bead are thrown out the window. Sometimes, you just gotta use what’s available!

If you are really having difficulty choosing color combinations, go to a fabric store, or even your own closet. What prints appeal to you? What colors or shades of colors do they have? Take note of those combinations. You might find you gravitate towards blues, greens and purples one day. The next day you might like reds, yellows and oranges.

Despite what color theory says, I do not believe there are bad color combinations, for the most part. At least not in beads! I wouldn’t paint my walls in orange and pink, but in beads, in the right way….maybe it would work!

Norm the Gnome in the Know’s Response:

I love color!! All Gnomes love color. Maybe it is because we are gardeners. Have you ever seen a true “English Garden” or a garden tended by Gnomes? There are all sorts of flowers,

with a rainbow of colors, all mixed together. I don’t think any of the different colors of flowers will ever clash. Has anyone ever looked at a colorful garden and said “those colors just don’t go together”? If they do say that, then they are just didactic buffoons.

If you ever need help choosing colors, sit in a garden, or go to a garden store. Talk to the pansies especially, they are the best at choosing color combinations. I can’t be near a pansy without feeling happy. They always make me smile. I think that they are the happiest of all flowers. If you look at them for long enough, you can see them smile at you.

Don’t trust those who analyze color combinations. They are not to be trusted. They are control freaks who take the fun out of playing with colors!

Barney The Brainy Bruin’s Response:

I bought my girlfriend Bernie, a hat and scarf once. Someone told me they clashed. Someone else told me that those colors were only for old lady bears (which Bernie is not). Bernie growled at me for that, once she heard that.

But what do I know about colors? I am color blind. My world is in shades of grey, so everything looks good to me. What does red look like? Someone told me once raspberries are a nice shade of red. Is it true?

I love raspberries. They are my favorite fruit.

Phenomenal Beader-Marty Measel

I love it when someone sends me a jpg of beadwork they did using my patterns! I decided that I will feature beaders here as well as on my website. Steve does my website for me when he can, sometimes he gets a little busy and can't update the website as quick as I can add an image here. I figure this way you can have bragging rights in two places!!

This beauty is by Marty Measel from Florida. This wall hanging was made using my Art Nouveau Tiles. She changed some of the colors and her version looks GREAT!! It's an absolutely beautiful piece!

Mystery Monday #3 Rows 32-44

Anyone liking this one so far??

Let me know!