SEXIST!!!!

Yes, I will admit, even though I truly know better, that when I am writing this blog, my writing tends to be sexist. I thank a dear kind reader for so kindly pointing out my “fault”, and I thank HIM for giving me another topic to write about (I am beginning to worry that I might run out of my shit-fueled momentum before too long).

Name your craft, be it knitting, embroidery, sewing, scrap booking washing diapers, and even beading, women do predominate the field. Yes, even most cooks are women, if you take into consideration who does most of the cooking on a worldwide survey. I dare say, we women even think that crafts (other than ship building, hunting and tanning hides) are our territory, and woe to the man who tries to enter it!!

Yet, if the tables were turned and women were to be denied participation of a “manly” craft such has building train models, or making furniture, we would have a hissy fit, wouldn’t we? We would stomp our feet in a 2 year old’s rage, with fists clenched and for added effect, cry big tears.

A man in a mostly female dominated field, he would hardly take note. A man would continue on and ignore the bewildered female who cannot understand why a man would want to take part in “her” craft. He enjoys the craft for its own sake, and he might even enjoy the fact that he is in the minority, rather than protest the inequality of male membership in the local beading club.

There are some fantastic beaders who are men. If you have been beading for long enough, you might have heard of Don Pierce, David Chatt, and Marcus Amerman. They are not only phenomenal beaders, but they have done a lot to elevate the craft of beadwork to an art. These 3 men are not the only men who bead. There are many others. In some Native American societies, it is the men who do the beading, especially of ceremonial items. I have several customers who are male beaders who just delight me to no end. I also receive a fair amount of mail from males who are incarcerated who like nothing better to do with their time than bead.

To me, there is something very endearing about a male who enjoys beading. I don’t know what it is exactly, but maybe in my sexist mind, he has crossed over to my side of the world and understands something that is a predominately female form of art. Perhaps by joining me, he understands my female brain.

But really, that’s bullshit. He is simply a male who likes to bead. Nothing more, nothing less.

In my very early days as a designer, I once admired another designer from a distance. This designer’s name was Mark, I never did learn the last name. I saw design after design from this person. “Oh, I thought!! I would love to meet this guy. The designs he creates are so wonderful, he is so talented, he must have the soul of an angel!” Then I discovered that “Mark” was not a male but a female. (Yes that was her name…in a somewhat cruel set of circumstances, her parents wanted her to be a boy. When Mark was born, her parents were disappointed that she was a girl and decided to keep the male name they chose for the boy they longed for). Once I found out that Mark was female, I was disappointed. Don’t ask me why. Yes, I was unattached at the time…but really, I did not entertain the idea of dating “him”. I know…too much information…but as a result of this discovery, I really began questioning what stereotypes I might be harboring and how the male/female associations might color what I feel about beadwork.

I know that I was totally enthralled by the fact of a man creating such wonderful designs. Once I learned a female created them, I still greatly admired them, but I was not so captivated. Why was that? Did I really think that men could not design such beautiful work? Did I really think that the graceful lines of the designs were more special if a male created them?

Another example of sexism in beading took place when I took a 3-day workshop in beading given by a male. He is an excellent beader, very innovative, and has talent beyond most beaders I know. There were 20 of us in the class. Women were swooning over the guy, bringing offerings of cookies, coffee, and other mementos. They were clamoring to help him in any way possible. I kept thinking one of them would offer to polish his shoes! After class, most of us followed him as if he were the Pied Piper to dinner. He laughed, and exclaimed “ What a shame that I have so many wonderful women flocking after me, and I am gay!” We all laughed, but still the women thought that as a beader he was the cat’s meow. I doubt a woman would have been treated with such admiration by other women.

We all have our cultural biases when it comes to activities that men and women take part in. This is taught to us either directly, or by implication and example when we are youngsters. Most of us will agree, that we all can enjoy our hobbies, no matter what our sex is. All it takes is interest, not what kind of chromosomes we have.

To all of my male readers, you have my apologies for not openly acknowledging that you are part of my audience. I DO fully acknowledge and love that men as well as women love beading. Please understand that it becomes a tad cumbersome to write the he/she designation in my writing. When I write she, just kick the “S” out of that pronoun, and know that I include you in my non-sexist beading world. And I will try to openly include all the wonderful guys who bead along with us gals!

Big Full On Hugs to all you GUYS out there (and especially for Brian)!!

Tipsy Tuesday, 9/29/09

This week’s question is not about beads, but about pets.

Laurie M. from Tennessee asks:

“How do I keep my dog from eating my cat’s food? My cat is an outdoor cat, and when the dog is outside, he always manages to eat her food. We have tried putting it up high out of his reach, but still, he finds ways to get at it.”

My Advice

I have the same problem with my dog at times. My dog, whose name is “Trouble” is generally pretty good and won’t bother with the cat’s food, because she hates getting yelled at. But there are times when for who knows what reason, she will do what it takes to reach high for the cat’s food.

I scold her and push her nose in “Slug” the cat’s food, and that generally will keep her from it for some time. Perhaps that doesn’t work for your dog, sometimes they can be strong willed or just sneaky. You might have to feed the cat in the front of the house if the dog is in the back. Or you might just need to supervise, and take the food away once the cat has eaten.

I have to laugh at the antics at my house. My parrot, Lucy, is a tattle tale. When she sees

the dog near the cat’s food, I hear her say “Get outta there!! Trouble, NO!”

Her timing is incredible.

Norm the Gnome in the Know’s advice

Food thievery is rampant. I see the jays steal food from the dog. It’s what animals do, steal

food from each other. Haven’t you been out to dinner with someone, and their dinner looks so much better than yours? I think it’s the same with the animals. Every one else’s dinner looks better.

Maybe you should feed the dog cat food, and the cat should eat something else. Actually,

I don’t think you should feed the cat anything. I don’t like cats. The Fish-Breathed-Feline-Fur-Balls always come to defecate in my garden. Let the little fussy fur balls go catch some mice.

Barney the Brainy Bruin’s Advice

I would feed the cat once a week, so it gets really hungry and learns to wolf down its food like the dog does. If the cat doesn’t eat all her food when you give it to her, she’s just not hungry enough.

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My Non-Bead Day

What a great day!! My daughter Jasmine and I went to San Jose. It is about an hour and a half away from where I live in Modesto. Did I ever mention I miss the Bay Area?? Ok…I know I did, at least once. There is just so much to do there, and it is all so exciting.

Ok, you wonder…why did you move away from there? Well, it’s a story that would probably not interest you, so suffice it to say it was a choice I needed to make, and always knew I would never feel at home here in the Central Valley, but I digress…that is not what I wanted to talk about.

Jasmine always likes stopping in at her “favorite” store when we visit San Jose. It’s one of those stores that has over priced clothing (NEVER anything that would fit me). The clothing is very pretty, lots of embroidery, nice designs, most of it geared towards women Jasmine’s age. I still like to look, wishing I could fit into SOMETHING , and could afford it. The store also has items other than clothing such as jewelry, perfume, soaps, pillows, plates, books, richly embroidered kitchen towels, bedding, fancy drawer pulls….I think they are trying to seta whole atmosphere: Nicely dressed skinny young lady in expensive embroidered clothes with trendy plates and kitchen towels.

My daughter always heads toward the sale rack. I meander around the store looking at things that I don’t have to worry about the fit. Hmmm….I noticed an attractive bottle, I picked it up and sniffed the sprayer. Smells nice. Like a dumbbell, I sprayed some on my neck.

I regretted that.

It was not perfume, but a room spray, and for some reason, it did not smell the same as it did out of the sprayer. Maybe my body chemistry did not mesh well with it. It smelled nasty! Ok..not cow poop sort of nasty, but definitely not something I would like to wear. And because like an idiot, I sprayed it on my neck, my eyes were beginning to water.

No worries…I saw that there was perfume on the back case. I marched right over, and this time I was a tad smarter. I sprayed it on my arm. Should have smelled that one too, before I applied a generous spritz on myself. I did not like that one either.

One more shot….

Yes, it was perfume, yes I sniffed it. It smelled ok. I sprayed my other arm. Now I had 3 scents on me. The combination of which was more than I could stand. My neck was starting to tingle where the first spray hit its mark, and I think it was turning a little red to boot.

Still waiting for Jasmine to make up her mind as to whether or not she would buy something,

I decided I had enough of the perfumes. As my mom would say, I was starting to smell like a street walker (actually her words were much stronger, but you get the idea). I went to look at the pretty kitchen towels. I figured I should buy one to wipe off the offending oders. I found two (overpriced) ones that I liked. I bought both of them. Pleased that I bought something from this she-she store, and that I had something to wipe off the offensive fragrances, Jasmine and I went off to Borders….and from one of my earlier posts…you know what happens there, and

I’m not telling!!

When Beads Go Bad

We all have them. They make themselves known like vile farts at the Thanksgiving Day table. Everyone is aware of their presence, but no one acknowledges that they are there, hoping that if ignored, they will be less noticeable, or at least cease from being the focus of what would otherwise be a perfect feast for the senses. Ahhh, family gatherings!! Like woven beads, the beauty of which is often in the eye of the beholder. The beauty is often seen only by those closest to it.

The motley crew of someone’s family might include Uncle Joe, the alcoholic, red faced, and passed out with his face in a bowl of soup, Aunt Jane who is not on her meds and communicates loudly with the King of Aliens, and brother Dave with his hooker date who has had trouble with the law... more than once. They are family, we love them, despite their mistakes, and their shortcomings. We try to make things work, to make things smooth so that our gatherings resemble something akin to being a happy festive, and normal event.

Isn’t that how it is with our beads? One is too splotchy from a bad dye job. Another has a crack that renders it unstable. Yet another is made of the kind of stuff that brings shame and embarrassment to the rest that are woven together trying to become a beautiful happy mix.

Don’t we all have some misfit beads in all of our stashes? There are some we will not throw out, they belong to the rest of our beloved collection, and we love them despite their faults. There are some that have gone bad over time. Perhaps tarnished beyond hope of ever becoming the gleaming trinket it once was. Maybe some do not have the aesthetic value you once thought they had.

What about those beads that once were perfect and have now gone bad? What if those beads are in a piece you worked hours on, and was once the pride of your beadwork collection. Perhaps the beads have faded, grown old with no resemblance of the beauty they had in their youth. Would you discard that piece, or do you still look at it, seeing only what it once was. Do you still love it? Do you still care for it, even though you might not take it out to a show?

At what point do you decide to cut up a piece of beadwork and save the crystals, or other beads that are still good? When do you decide to just throw it all away?

I have a box of beadwork that I just don’t know what to do with. I do not have the heart to throw some of it away. Some of these pieces either have sentimental value, or I just put so much work into it, in my eyes, it will always be the wonderful piece it once was.

One such piece is the image you see in this post. It is worn, it is old (made in 1994). Many of the seed beads have faded, or lost their color altogether. The seahorse was once a candy pink, he is now colorless. The mermaid has color that is rubbed off.

It is a special piece to me. The mermaid is the very first 3D piece I made. I still remember sitting on the floor during Thanksgiving weekend and playing with the technique and creating her, and later her sea dwelling friends. I had a lot of fun with creating this piece and learned a lot from it.

I ask you…what should I do with it? Should I cut it up? Perhaps just keep the 3D pieces? If so, only the fish, seagull and seal might be worth keeping.

I no longer display this piece at shows. I do not consider it to be of a quality I wish to sell, but I think it still has some value, at least to me. It shows me where I once was. It shows me what I learned. It shows me a style I used to like to play with. This piece (and my other battered pieces) bring back many memories.

This mermaid necklace will always reminds me of that Thanksgiving.

So my Mermaid piece lives in a box, with its other motley relations that are no longer able to come to shows with me. I drag these worn, sorry pieces of beadwork out on their “holidays” and chat with them. I update them on my new projects, what I am doing, and thank them for what they have taught me. I still love them despite their faults, just as I do my dysfunctional family.

Would you do any differently, or am I just to darn sentimental?

Things That Keep Me From My Beads (Another Beading Song)

If you liked my first song (see the post "If Michael Jackson Could Bead), I have another one for you!!

Sing this one to "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music.

Things That Keep Me From My Beads

Working at day jobs, from morning till late nite

My children are sick, and my hubby ‘s not quite right

Laundry needs washing, and so do the kids

These are the things that keep me from my beads

Dinner needs cooking the family is waiting

My daughter ‘s out late with the scum she is dating

The garden looks bad, so I must pull the weeds

These are the things that keep me from my beads

When the bead breaks

When the thread knots

When I spill all my beads

I simply remember I can’t always bead

And then I don’t feel so bad

Dancing recitals for my darling daughter

Sex with my hubby that’s not worth the bother

I don’t know when I ‘ll have time left for me

These are the things that keep me from my beads

My annual pap smear I don’t think its pleasure

My boobs on a table I cant stand the pressure

My every day chores that will never be done

These are the things that keep me from my beads

When the bead breaks

When the thread knots

When I spill all my beads

I simply remember I can’t always bead

And then I don’t feel so bad

I finally find time to sit with my beading

My project’s a mess and my finger is bleeding

But I don’t care cause its just me and my beads

Leave me alone that is all that I plead!

When the bead breaks

When the thread knots

When I spill all my beads

I simply remember I can’t always bead

And then I don’t feel so bad

You Hoard!!!

Ok. I will confess, I am guilty as charged.

When the roommate I had shortly after I separated from my husband many years ago made the accusation, it was a slap in the face.

“You hoard food!” she remarked.

The fact that she was bulimic and I no longer wanted her to go through my 5 lb stash of rice and gallon of ice cream within 24 hrs, resulting in my need to move my “Pantry” under my bed had nothing to do with it. At least not to her.

Now years later, my bulimic roommate and I have long since parted ways. Now I live with Steve, who loves to eat. Jasmine (my daughter) who has just moved away, still visits frequently. We both love to cook and bake together. We will flip through countless books and magazines debating what to cook (sometimes we throw a cook book at Steve and tell him that’s the menu for tonight, pick something for dinner!). After finally settling on a recipe to make, I will go through the pantry and freezer to make sure I have everything needed for the meal.

Jasmine and I joke, that if the stores all closed down because of some catastrophe, we would still be eating gourmet meals for about 6 months. It’s an exaggeration, but I know that there is enough stored to last quite a while. I hate it when I finally decide what to cook, and I don’t have one or two ingredients. So my pantry is stocked with all sorts of goods so I can whip up almost anything in short order.

My hoarding tendencies do not stop at groceries. I also hoard beads. My “pantry” of beads, much like my panty of food items is crammed full. Like my pantry of groceries, it takes me forever to find the “ingredients” I need for the project I am working one. And like my momentum for cooking dinner, if I cannot find the “ingredients” I need, it can bring me to a stand still. My whole momentum, my inspiration, my thrill of what I was going to cook (or bead) can just fizzle out and die.

As a result, in both grocery shopping and bead shopping, I try to plan for what needs I might have in the somewhat near future. I stock up on the staples, the basics that I need for almost everything I need. Seed beads of all types, of all colors are the foundation for what I need. They are the mirepoix, my building blocks upon which my beadwork is based. For the most part, I don’t buy retail on these items anymore. I just stock up. Delicas, Aikos, size 11, size 14, and cube beads. I need all colors. I can never have too many.

Where I have the most trouble, is with the beads I use as “accent beads”. These are the 3mm and bigger beads and crystals of all sizes and shapes. I never know what I will need, and often it turns out that what I need, I will never have. Why is that? I have collected so many beads over the years, I have boxes and boxes of them. But it always seems to happen that the color isn’t right, or I don’t have the right size, or the shape isn’t what I want.

As a result, I will buy the accent beads at shows (and I buy my seed beads from my favorite distributor). I will buy what catches my eye, colors I favor that day, and I try to buy as much as I think I can afford (although my creditors and I might have a different idea as to what I can afford, darn them!).

I stockpile my beads in my bead “pantry”, in boxes, bins and shelves. Like my food in my food pantry,over time, beads get shoved behind and in back of other items. I will forget I have them, or I just simply run out of energy while looking for them. So what do I do? Order more. Spending money is certainly less tiring than looking through countless hiding places.

Until writing this post, I really never considered how my hoarding of food, and of beads are so similar. How many of you have similar hoarding tendencies? Do you ever “lose” beads, and buy more, and then finally find them just as the new shipment comes in? Do you justify it as I do, as an “investment”?

Yes, I do admit, I hoard my beads, I hoard food for my family. But I do know I have a good stock of each should I not be able to get to a store, or should money ever become obsolete. I will have enough to continue on while the world around me goes crazy. The world can fall apart, but I will still be able to cook and bead.

Anyone wanna come over?

Tipsy Tuesday 9/22/09

I love the questions you are sending in to me! Please continue to send in more! Norm, Barney and I would be happy to give you advice on any subject!

This week's question comes from Linda from Texas.

With the holidays coming up, do you make a lot of seasonal items? If you don’t sell all of the Holiday themed beadwork during the Holiday Season, do you display them during shows outside of the Holidays?

My Comments:

I do bead some seasonal items but mostly because I usually do a show in mid October. It is a Pumpkin Festival on the California Coast. So I make a lot of Halloween themed earrings and some Christmas ones.

As a rule I don’t like beading Holiday themed items. I don’t even like Holiday themed clothing. I would rather put more energy into something that can be used all year long. But with that said, there are so many cute ideas for patterns for the Holidays. Who can resist a whimsical Santa, or a really cool looking Witch or a nasty looking Ghoul? Usually, when I make such items, they tend to be smaller items so that hopefully I can sell them.

Yes, I do display my Holiday items during all my shows. I may not put them in a prominent position, as I do during October and November, but I do put them out. I am always surprised at how many Holiday earrings sell during July and August!

Don’t worry about the seasons, bead what you enjoy!

Comments From Norm The Gnome in the Know

I do not do a lot of gardening during the Holiday Season. That is the time I stitch hats for my village. Red and Blue are the colors most of the villagers prefer and on great occasion brown, but we wear them the year around so I would not consider it Holiday wear.

We Gnomes are often confused with Santa, or even his elves. He stole our look from us. He just never could get his hat to stand up straight. That’s probably because of the big dumb looking pom-pom he put at the tip of it.

Gnomes are smarter than Santa’s helpers, we would not be so dumb as to work that hard on toys for the little diaper-stainers. Most of us Gnomes just prefer to work in our garden when we can, and rest during the Holiday Season with a nice mug of Ale!

So, our work is seasonal, as it should be. It would be boring to do the same work all year around. Perhaps you should vary your beadwork themes too.

Barney the Brainy Bruin’s Comments:

I don’t do any work in preparation for the Holidays except I will go hunt for acorns. Then I will I eat a lot, get fat, and hibernate. I love the Holidays!

Girlfriends

Classes are always fun. You just never know who is going to be in the class or what the personalities will bring to the class (see The Cracked Bead on www.beadedbear.com for my Field Guide to the Identification or the Genus and Species of Bead Class Students, and also the Field Guide on Teachers while you are at it).

My main hope in teaching a class is that everyone leaves happy. I hope that everyone had a great time, and that they learned how to complete the project. Thankfully, I can say it is rare when someone leaves with dissatisfaction.

Sometimes the planets align just right, and by some miracle I am lucky enough to receive a benefit that no amount of money can buy. Such luck was bestowed upon me, nearly a year ago when I taught a couple of classes at BABE in Oakland, CA.

The classes were fun. I think everyone enjoyed themselves. Two of my students wanted more. They contacted me and asked if I would be interested in teaching them more, perhaps even at my house. I was thrilled with the idea, and felt really honored that they would make the 2-hour trek to my home. And of course, I force fed them lunch (since cooking is my second hobby, and they were a captive audience).

I think there must have been something in the food I fed them, some drug, perhaps a hallucinogen because they came back for more. After a couple of repeat visits, and more (drugged?) food, my two students are no long “students” but have become two of my most cherished friends. They come for their “feed and bead” sessions, as I like to call them. I try out recipes on them, and we bead, tell stories and laugh together.

Yesterday, I went over to the Bay Area to visit with them. Back when I lived in the San Jose area, Jasmine and I would make regular trips to Berkeley, where I would indulge in my three favorite B’s, Beads, Bread and Books. On Shattuck Ave is a nice bead store (Baubles and

Beads), The Cheese Board (The best scones in the world, along with other fantastic breads all made on the premises) and of course, a really cool independent book store. What’s not to like? You can practically fall out of one store into the next.

Lorilee and I walked along Shattuck in a glorious sunny day, talking girl talk, and did our shopping on Shattuck. Afterwards we met up with Gauri, and lunch at a fantastic restaurant called Café Gratitude which specializes in raw foods. It was incredibly delicious. I never imagined that entrees and deserts from raw foods could be so wonderful.

Both of these women are such a delight to be with. Both prod me along, unwittingly giving me the encouragement and cheer, just when I seem to need it most. Gauri has become my “personal promoter” beating my drum for me, to teach classes at her embroidery guild. I am amazed and so thankful that she puts so much effort in helping me out, doing what I just do not have the time to do. She is just amazing. Lorilee pushes me along, giving me ideas, and lets me “vent” when I need it. I love both of them dearly.

My friends inspire me. They keep me laughing, they inspire me to create, they cheer me on, they give me opinions and advice on projects and in every aspect of daily life.

I sometimes wonder what I did without them for so many years.

The fringe benefit of the class I taught nearly a year ago, keeps paying back every single day. Gauri and Lorilee are the embodiment of the soul of a beader, they are filled with laughter, the joy of living, the joy of beading (and embroidery) and they know what it means to be a friend.

To Gauri and Lorilee, and all my other friends I have met through beading, I am so grateful to know you and call you friend. Through beads, I not only have the enjoyment of my art, but friendships that nourish my soul.

No Class!!

I have been following a debate on what it means to be a self taught beader vs a beader who has taken classes. The debate was along the lines of: is a beader who has taken classes better than one who never did? Just what is the distinction between the two? Or is there one? How do you even define “self taught”? Does learning from printed materials count, or does being self-taught mean you need to discover everything on your own with no outside help?

This whole debate is to the point of such total craziness I cannot believe it. It amazes me that this should come up in any fashion, let alone debated ad nauseam as to what the merits of one over the other are. What people will argue about never ceases to amaze me. I really hate to say this, especially of my own gender, but this is such female pettiness! I cannot imagine guys standing around a barbeque and arguing, “Hey Joe, what do you think of Sam building that train model? Can you believe he never had a class on how to build one? And now he wants to enter the competition with the rest of us who have taken workshops! Just who does he think he is, anyways?” Nah…won’t happen. Guys aren’t prone to such hissy fits over what amounts to nothing.

Let’s get this straight. Beadwork is not something that will cause someone to lose their life if done “incorrectly” (as if that were possible to begin with), it will not cause national economic hardship, family ties to be lost, mass destruction, a world wide epidemic, houses to crumble or any other disaster natural or otherwise. Beading is not a life or death proposition in any way. For most beaders, beading is just a friggen hobby!

If you sell beadwork, do you think a customer who is considering buying a piece of beadwork will ask, “Was this made by someone who is self taught or has she taken classes?” Not on your life! Who out there thinks that a piece of beadwork made better by someone has taken a class? Is a piece of beadwork in any way shape or fashion even discernable from self taught or classroom learned techniques?

I was a “self taught” beader for many years before I finally took my first beading class. The benefit of the class was that I did not have to struggle with book or directions in hand to teach myself. It was a short cut. And the social interaction made it all the more fun. Did it make me better at the technique? No not really. I might have picked up a point, or a short cut that would have been difficult to describe in printed words and diagrams. But that doesn’t make me better than someone who learned only from the handouts given in class.

Whether or not someone takes a class might be because of several factors. Perhaps good classes are not offered in the immediate area , and traveling to the nearest class is just to darn expensive. Even if a class is offered nearby, the class still might be too expensive. Maybe the classes are offered during times when you are working, or have other reasons why you cannot attend.

Will taking a class from Ms Favorite Bead Artist of the Year make you a better beader?

If you do attend her class, is that any sort of guarantee that you will learn anything? Need I remind you of when you were in school, be it High School or College, of the lousy teachers you might have had? Even though a teacher is really respected in his field, he might even have been the guru of the subject he taught. He might not have had good teaching skills. So it is with bead teachers. Some are exceptional artists, but that does not mean that they are good teachers. If they were not good teachers, and you taught yourself strictly from the handouts, or from figuring it out mostly on your own, what does that make you? Self taught or class taught? Being self taught or class taught makes no difference. Neither is better than the other. Only different.

As a teacher, I would love everyone to take a class (especially from me). It keeps classes going. Classes help to keep those of us who wish to earn money from our art “employed”. But I see nothing wrong with those of you who take the books, patterns, and articles we wrote and teach yourself from those items. That was the intent we had (at least I speak for myself) when we wrote those directions. That is a testament to our writing ability and diagram drawing ability if you are able to “teach yourself” from our instructions. Have you ever tried to write instructions? Believe me, it is NOT easy!

Those who know me, and have taken classes from me know that my class mantra is always “How ever it works for YOU is the right way. My way is NOT the ONLY way.” I am only a guide when I teach, I hope to help my students to find the method that works best for them.

We cannot always choose to attend the best classes. Those classes may be out of our reach for a variety of reasons. What we can chose, however, is our enjoyment of the art of beadwork, whether as a hobby or a “profession”. And we can chose to ignore worthless arguments such as this that have no worthwhile basis for debate. There is nothing to be gained by debating such a petty concept and certainly not much to learn from.

Perhaps even my mere momentary attention to this debate here on my own blog is not worth the post, and has….well…..you know…..no class.

Furlough Friday 9/18/09 My day job gripe

I am sick and tired of “Political Correctness” and in that pissed-off spirit, I write this post.

If you are of the “Politically Correct” camp, and never wish to rustle a feather, please do not read on, because surely as the sun rises every day, I will piss you off.

Let me first qualify my “permissions” to state my opinions on the subject you are about to read:

I am a card-carrying immigrant. I did not become a citizen until I was either 16 or 18 depending on which measure you wish to use.

I did take the citizenship exam at 18 years of age (not knowing I had already become a citizen earlier thru my parents). Until then, I filled out my required residency green card every year (except one, when I forgot and feared that I would be caught and deported).

I did not speak English until I went to Kindergarten. My parents still speak their brand of half English and German (mostly German) even when talking with me on the phone. I answer in English, the reasons are too complicated (and who cares anyways) to be enumerated here.

My parents still have their German-Speaking friends who share in their unique Half-German, Half-English language that neither English Speaking Only nor German Speaking Only people will not fully understand. They struggled with English. My parents still have thick German accents, they do not write English well, but they do understand conversational English.

I take absolute delight in different cultures, and embrace the differences we have. Heck, I am a world traveler. Just visit http://home.att.net/~fantastictravel/ to see some of the places I have visited. If there is cultural event, I am all for it. I shop at ethnic markets for hard to get foods, and I love cooking all varieties of ethnic foods. You should see my collection of music from other countries. Turkish, Hungarian, Peruvian, and more. It’s all good to my ears. Artwork from my travels adorn my walls, making my walls look like an eclectic world-art museum.

So what has my goat??

With all that I enjoy and embrace from other countries, I have to say this is AMERICA that I live in! As a nation, we need to have a unifying language. And here in the US it is ENGLISH.

I am NOT anti-immigration. How can I be? I am an immigrant myself.

I am FOR English being the Official Language in the US. Even my parents learned it well enough to get by in their daily needs.

Why then, must we pander to those who refuse to learn English? Why must we have driver’s exams in at least a dozen different languages? Why must we have staff that can speak every language under the sun in welfare offices, in stores, in every manner of public service? Why have we forgotten that this is a nation of English speaking people?

So during my day job, I have to say, it PISSES me off when I have to deal with people who do not learn English. Yet they have the audacity to demand the protections, and benefits of the rest of us English-speaking citizens receive. And I won’t get into my feelings about ILLEGAL(vs. LEGAL) immigrants (although I bet you can guess what those might be).

No, I am NOT prejudiced against any nationality. In fact, the immigrants I deal with are truly the hardest working people I have seen. Most of us, frankly would not toil in the hot sun, or other horrid conditions as these people do. I admire their spirit, I admire how hard they work, and I admire the hardships they have endured. They truly have my utmost respect.

As I said, what I do not understand is the unwillingness to learn English. Actually, it is more than unwillingness, but an arrogance, an absolute refusal to learn English. If I were to move to another country, the first thing I would do is learn the predominant language.

How many times do I pick up the phone during my hours at my day job and hear “HABLA ESPANOL??” No I don’t speak Spanish fluently. I had 1 year of Spanish in High School, and can ask some very basic questions, but that is about it.

I never ever hear “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” Or any other European language for that matter, or even in an Asian language, come to think of it. But somehow Spanish is not only requested but DEMANDED.

One day, on my DOPE day (refer to an earlier post if you don’t know what that means), I answered a call. To set up the scene, at the time there were only 6 of us working in my office, 4 inspectors, 1 clerical and the Manager. None of us spoke Spanish. (we have since grown to 10, 2 of whom speak Spanish).

“…..How can I help you?”

“I need your Spanish Speaker I spoke to yesterday”.

“Sorry Sir, no one speaks Spanish in this office”

“I KNOW I spoke with someone yesterday who speaks Spanish.”

“No Sir, that is impossible. There are only 6 of us here. Not one of us speaks Spanish.”

“Yes there is, I tell you, I spoke Spanish with someone in your office yesterday. Why do you lie to me?”

“ I know everyone here, we are a small office, and I assure you NO ONE speaks Spanish. You seem to be speaking English really well, Sir. Why don’t you give me a try and let me try to help you. Try to tell me what you need in English, I am sure I can try my best for you.”

He hung up on me. While he had a Spanish accent, I had no trouble understanding him. Yet he REFUSED to tell me what his problem was. He REFUSED to even TRY. He must have called a different office the day before, because it certainly was not our office.

While not all immigrants have this type of stubborn refusal, so many do. I see this day to day. People not trying, people pretending for what ever reason not to understand or try to speak English when later you discover they not only understand, but can converse more than they will admit to.

I find it ironic that while some people refuse to become American enough to learn English, they want all the benefits, all the joys, and all else we Americans can offer. By not learning English, immigrants are hindering our ability to help them to our fullest potential. The service that they will receive will always be there for them, but it will not be as easy, and therefore, not efficient.

I look back at my parents. They had to be self-supportive within 12 months of setting foot in this great country, and they had to show some proficiency in the English language and take an exam to prove that proficiency. No, they did not need to become Shakespeare, but they needed to know just enough to get by.

I still chuckle at the mistakes that my parents make in speaking English. It is part of their charm. But wrong or right, they try. They recognize that English is vital. As is any language in a nation is needed to unify the people, to provide a common ground for communication and understanding.

It has nothing to do with prejudice, nothing to do with discrimination. But everything to do with National pride, and unification of a group of people to become one solidified unit. We need to understand each other, otherwise there will always be a rift that cannot be bridged.

I am all for heritage. It is the beauty of our country. Whether you are Greek, Italian, Irish, Chinese, Mexican, Russian, Indian or name your heritage, it is all fabulously wonderful! Let us all keep the traditions from where we came from, Lets share them with everyone who has enough of an interest in what we might have to offer. Whether it is food, music, holiday traditions or the arts, it is all worth sharing. This diversity is what’s makes our country exciting.

But in order to do to be able to share, we need to communicate, we need a common language. Without that unifying language, we will always have a chasm that cannot be bridged, we will never become a unified Nation, but rather isolated segments. Let English be our unifying bridge so that we can share all that this great country has to offer.

My "Criminal" Beginnings

As I get older, I notice that I do not worry about the things I used to when I was younger. Not only do I not worry, but I don’t care. Further more, not only do I not care, but I instigate some of the things I once would have cowered from.

Through most of my 20’s, I used to be so concerned with what people thought of me, that I would hide in a corner, and hardly say a word to anyone. I would worry that I would do something wrong, that I would make a mistake of any manner in any part of my day-to-day life. Adventurous I was not. Maybe it’s my German upbringing that taught me to be quiet until spoken to (especially as a child) and to follow the rules. There were even rules about rules. Germans are if anything, obsessed with rules. And my parents had all sorts of rules for me that had to be followed, even right down to the order of what articles of clothing are to

be donned first (such as left sock before the right). Their rules made the Tablets of the 10 Commandments given to Moses look like child’s play.

When I moved away from my rule making parents and lived on my own, I still lived by most of the set of rules that I grew up with. I was certain that if I did not, the long arm of my parents would still find my backside. I was always on the look out for rules. Speed limits, traffic signs, boxes that said “this side up”, boxes that said “open here”, which doors said “Exit”, which said “Enter”, envelopes in the mail that said “Reply by…” Anything that had directions, or instructions on it, I was sure to follow it to the letter. Rules must be followed.

Then it happened one day, I broke the first rule ever. Oh, to you, I am sure it is nothing, but for me, it was daring! I was living on the edge! I was nearly a criminal!

I hated the tag that said, “Do not remove” on my pillow. It always scratched me or poked me in the eye. Of course, I could have put that end of the pillow inside the pillowcase so that it would not stick out, but I wanted it gone! I remember closing my windows, and taking that pillow where no one could possibly see me perform that amputation, and with my sharpest scissors I cut off the tag. I was half expecting sirens to go off, certainly it was wired to the pillow police as a silent alarm.

I sat waiting. Nothing happened. I cut up the tag, so that the warning could not be read. Still nothing happened. The pillow police never did come to inspect my pillows!

Oh the thrill!! I broke a rule and nothing bad happened. I felt exhilaration! I felt freedom! I felt release!! I became daring! Never mind that since then I moved to another state as a fugitive.

Then I went to visit relatives in Europe. Jasmine was 9 months old at the time. Little did she know, (nor does she know now) that she was going to be traveling with a soon to be criminal, and that she would be an unwilling accomplice. I was about to embark on a rule breaking adventure that would catapult me into a life of rule breaking enjoyment!

We went to visit both sides of the family. Her dad’s side is in England and Wales, my side in Germany. There were a number of family mementos and gifts from both sides of the family that were given to us, especially from my side of the family, which tended to be overly generous. We had all sorts of goods, including clothing, tablecloths, candies, German Salamis, cured ham, cheeses, chocolates, jams, Sherry from Spain, figurines, and costume jewelry in various states of disrepair that I could use, and even some beads!

I could barely get the suitcase closed! I had all I could do to take our gifts home.

Back in those days, the luggage weight was not as closely monitored. We were over weight, but we were pushed through, no problem. My carry on bag was filled with all sorts of goodies, in particular my prized beads and German costume Jewelry.

Then it came time to land in New York. I began to sweat. The dreaded customs!! Oh dear. Will the sniffing dogs discover the salami, and other foodstuffs that I had? And what about my customs declaration? Should I really list EVERYTHING?? $300 limit? I am sure I have exceeded that limit. Do I declare the food and risk Customs enjoying lunch from my gourmet (and now imported) Deli treasures?

NO!! I could not let it happen. So, with premeditated criminal intent, I filled out the customs form. “Assorted Souvenirs valued at $100 with nothing further to declare”. I boldly went forth….to the restroom.

There I furthered my criminal activities, and mastermindely devised a means to smuggle my beads and “jewels” which alone was enough to tip my duty free import limit over the $300 allowed. Carefully wrapped in several layers of plastic bags and tissues, I hid them.

Where???

Where else? In my 9 month old’s diapers. I shoved them down her clean diaper, gambling on the hope that she would not mess them up until I cleared customs and could retrieved them sans pee. (I didn’t want to think about #2). She looked like she was carrying a load in her diapers that must have collected all week. Bulging and bumpy, she looked like she needed help. I took her blanket and wrapped it around her bottom and carried her bravely forth to....

CUSTOMS.

Oh the sweat on my German Rule-Following brow!! I was not meant to be this way. It was not in my genetics.

“DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO DECLARE?”

“No Sir, only a few souvenirs….” And then my accomplice began to WAIL!!

The Customs officer had no patience for wailing babies, he waved us through. I looked back, the dog was making his rounds sniffing, we escaped his salami seeking nose! No treat for him!

I became a smuggler! A smuggler of beads, of broken costume jewelry, of pungent, garlicy Deli foods.

I broke rules. Lightening did not strike me dead.

The lesson of this story? No, I do not encourage you to lie on your Customs Form. But I do encourage you to “break the rules” when you are beading. Do not become so concerned about doing it all “PERFECTLY” that you cower in the corner as I once did, afraid of making a mistake.

Break a rule, do something daring. You might find that you will enjoy beading all the more! You might even discover a new, exciting technique!

Porn

I love books.

I love books passionately.

I love how books feel, the weight of them in my hands, even the smell of a new book. I love knowing that I am the first to flip through its virginal pages and discover its secrets. I love the jackets that some of them wear, all glossy and pretty. I always wonder “what’s underneath that jacket?”

Do you ever peak under the jacket when no one is looking?

I do. It makes me feel naughty.

Sometimes I will strip off the book’s jacket when I am home, leaving my book naked, exposed and vulnerable. Au Naturale …I like them that way.

I also love magazines. The silkiness of the glossy covers with just barely enough substance to cover what lies underneath. I am seduced by the vibrant colors and the enticing words printed on the cover, which makes me want to take them all home. They are cheaper than their high class, expensive book-brothers, but much showier and flashier and they don’t mind if you toss them around a bit. They are much lower maintenance. But for a quickie, they certainly are satisfying.

Drop me off at a good Borders or Barnes and Noble, preferably in the evening, when the mood is just right. You can leave me there for hours and I won’t mind. Bookstores are my playground where I pick up my next form of entertainment. I have been known to slink into bookstore with the intent to buy one specific book or magazine, and spend two hours fondling and lusting after books with total abandon. I just can’t help it.

The problem I have is that I play the field. I am seduced by books and magazines on travel, cooking, general art, history, self help books on computers and for mindless entertainment, novels of all genres. And of course let’s not forget books and magazines on beading, their bejeweled pages and beauty always catch my wandering eye.

Surely, I have enough books and magazines at home to play with every day for the next 200 years. Why then, am I always on the hunt for something new? Why do I prowl the internet looking for a new book release? Why do I always have to look at Amazon’s “Search Inside” peep show to get a peek at what joys a book might offer? Why do I get so excited whenever new issues of my favorite magazines hit the newsstands or arrive in my mail box all wrapped up in a protective covering?

When the new magazines arrive at my door, I can’t wait to open its covers. I usually wait until I can have a few moments alone, so I can savor its pages, one by one. The same thrill fills me for a book that is newly in my possession. I will flip through the pages, quickly at first to get a sense of what lies within, then more slowly savoring each recipe, each project, until sadly, I have gone through the entire book, finished, no longer thrilled by the newness of it.

Oh yes, this is my idea of porn. Like some sex starved guy who likes to drool over Hustler all glassy eyed and panting, I am like this with beading and cooking publications. It’s a flip of the coin at times as to which one I will turn to.

My beloved books and magazines, each one is memorable, each one is my favorite…until I set it down and go on to the next. It makes me feel like such a tramp. I feel I have betrayed the tossed aside publication because I am so quick to move on to the thrills that the next one promises me.

“ I am so sorry, my printed lovely, but when I am with another, I have forgotten the secrets you have told me. I have forgotten how you seduced me, and how my blood quickened with the promises you made to me of how you would please me with the skills you will teach me. I was lured by another. And then another…and then another…When finally, I see you again at the grocery check out stand, the memory of you long gone, I eagerly paid for you again, only to discover when we are home alone, I had been with you already. Oh the regret I feel. Taken in yet again by you, only to discover you aren’t as fresh and exciting as the first time”.

Yeah, I am a book whore. I can’t help it.

I don’t think Kindle will ever work for me. Kindle is like sex on the internet. You get to look not touch, you pretend you have a book and you get to experience virtual page turning. I want the real thing in my hands, to hold, to feel each page, and to caress its cover.

I don’t understand people who don’t like books. There are people who don’t even own more than just a handful of books. I just cannot imagine it. It’s unnatural. I feel sorry for them, these bookless people, who don’t understand the unbridled joys that a book can bring. These book-monks lead such (book) celibate lives. How can they deny those natural human urges of discovery and learning? It’s just not healthy! No wonder they are under the spell of a cheap tawdry TV!

Somewhere in some nightmarish land, I have heard that there are beings that buy only what they will use, and no more. They rip out the pages from the heart of a magazine, and leave the rest to wither and die. Cruel, I say!! Cruel!! Or they won’t buy a book because they fear that they won’t use the whole book, but only 8 of the 10 projects. The other 2 projects are uninteresting and have soiled the value of the book

in their opinion. I hope that these people won’t be likewise judged on their faults or shortcomings.

I love my books and magazines. I love them all times of the day. But my love for books is most passionate on a rainy, chilly night when I can crawl under my covers, with just enough light to read and perhaps a glass of wine.

Just my book and me, alone together….