A Workshop with Gargoyles

When we moved into our house just under two years ago I took the opportunity to set up my workshop while we were in the “fresh start” mode. The house is a big old colonial with one of those spacious attics that has windows, its own staircase, and hardwood floors. Sounds perfect, eh? Well there’s the original 123 year old slate roof, no insulation, a temperamental chimney, and no screens on the windows. Enter slate dust clouds, 95 degree summer days which mean 120 degree attic days, lovely waterfalls on the sides of the chimney, and me dodging angry bees. And you know what? It is perfect!

By last April the attic was cleaned and ready for the shop furniture. Of course I had a little fun and was sure to put up apple green shelving units. I had the windows propped open with those metal screen inserts creating a nice cross breeze. Ahhhh, so there I was in all of my glory putting together my workbench and humming along with the radio while Justin was trying to bring sexy back *cough*. Actually, I think I was blaring Metallica. You know, always trying to please the neighbors. Sweet kitty was sitting on the top step of the staircase watching quietly over the ‘construction site’ when I suddenly noticed that she was very interested in what was going on above my head. Hmmmm. My eyes shifted upwards and I caught a shadow move quickly over my head. A hot wave of panic grabbed my stomach as I realized what evil winged creature was casting the shadow down onto my innocent little head. For it was the king of the hornets himself!

That hornet looked like one of the gargoyles watching over Cathedral Notre Dame with his snarling face and six foot wing span. Only a slight exaggeration, trust me. You must understand as you read this that I am terrified of winged critters that sting and/or bite. Terrified. I’ll sit in a room with rabid wolf or a twelve foot snake before I get in there with a bee or wasp. You think I’m kidding.

I let out a screech and made for the stairs. Tools and screws flying in every direction as my foot hit the first step. Sweet kitty was long gone and I had a clear path down the wooden stairs. As I rounded the turn at the bottom I grabbed the door handle and swung on its hinges as it slammed shut. I leaned my back against the door panting and looking around wildly making sure the hungry gargoyle didn’t follow me down to gobble me up. Phew, I was safe.

After I regained my composure I made a move to go downstairs and get the bee spray from the pantry, but after two steps I ran right into my husband’s chest. *Phwooomph* His face morphed from concerned to mildly amused as he started to catch on to what had happened, “everything…..alright up here?”

Holding my arms as wide as they would go, “it was huge…er…massive…and very, very angry!”

He turned to head back downstairs, “uhmm-hmmm, I thought you had taken the roof with ya’ there for a second…my brave one. Oh and, the Raid is on the second shelf to the left.”

The shop was completed by May and came fully equipped with every bee spray available on the market. They even have their own shelf, over to the right of course as I am indeed a rightie. Let the battles begin...

Fuzzy Bead Herder

June 2006

It was a quiet weekday evening and I was sitting alone at our dining room table beading a necklace. The only sounds echoing through the house were moral speeches and slapstick wise cracks from the characters in ‘Law & Order’. My husband was planted comfortably on the couch and the cat was, for once, relaxing contentedly in front of her prized scratching post. All was right in our world, until we were reminded of how easily the scales of peace and tranquility can be tipped over into chaos and…feline pandemonium.

I saw it happen in slow motion and can still see the episode happening over and over again as if it was being projected on to a giant movie screen inside of my skull. I had reached for a crimping tool when my elbow suddenly clipped the seed bead tray sitting right at the edge of the table. Well, because that was the most intelligent place to put it. The tray flipped violently throwing hundreds of itty-bitty-teeny-weenie beads soaring through the air and then back down towards the hardwood floors. You’re starting to understand now…hardwood floors…hundreds of tiny beads. Uh-huh. The sound of them rolling across the floors was like a rising summer squall that whooshed out of the room and blew across the living room within seconds.

Those few short seconds felt like long drawn out minutes as those colorful little beads caused quite the chain reaction. I popped open one eye as I was coming out of a full body cringe and witnessed a twelve pound ball of fur streak out of the room and after the wave of beads. I think the cat thought she had died and gone to cat toy heaven! She hopped and pranced through the rolling glass herd like a seasoned border collie would with a flock of sheep. I swear I thought I saw her smiling, but her new found joy was short lived.

When the beads finally reached the other side of the living room they pelted the wall and sprayed back in the direction they had come from…right into poor kitty’s sweet little face. Uhg! She let out a series of short spits and growls while managing to puff her tail up to expand three times the size of her body (or so it seemed anyway). She made a move for the staircase to escape the onslaught but it was too late. Between her panicked dash and the beads under her little paws, all she accomplished was to run in place and continued to get pelted. Then……..deafening silence.

I sat motionless in my chair staring out into the living room where sweet kitty had just been assaulted. There were beads still slowly rolling about aimlessly and several tufts of fur hanging in the air. I looked over at the couch and saw the look of complete and utter disbelief on my husband’s face. Neither of us had moved and neither of us were about to move. I looked down and saw my little seed bead tray laying right side up on the floor. Inside of it was one lone bead gently rolling back and forth as if it were cheering for a show well done. Then I carefully surveyed the table. It was covered in bead caddies, tools, wire, bead boards, etc., and I knew something had to give. I looked at my husband and casually said, “I think it’s time I set up a workshop.”

He never said a word, but from upstairs came a mournful wail, “Meeeeeaaaawww”

You Forgot the "B"

Nope, this little LAM has no "b" as its an acronym and simply represents my initials. It all began way back when I was in elementary school. To my dismay, at the time, one of my...er...observant young classmates pointed out the fact that my initials sounded out the word 'lamb'. From that moment on I endured months of having our favorite little number "Mary Had a Little Lamb" belted out every day at noon on the play ground directly into my poor little ears. All per her direction I assure you. Nothing more than Satan's little drum major disguised with cute little blond curls complete with ribbons and dimples. Boy do I miss her. *cough*

As with most everything, the Idol worthy mob grew tired of serenading the quiet kid and my theme was forgotten and unceremoniously dropped as quickly as it had began. I remember the overwhelming feelings of relief the first day out on that kickball field when I didn't have to cover my ears and repeatedly scream, "Shut up - shut up - shut up!"

Aren't memories wonderful? So began years of peace...until.

Fast forward to my late teen years when I had the fortune to meet an...er...observant young man that noticed what our favorite little drum major had so many years before. Well I must have shot him quite the look as he recoiled in alarm at my reaction, but he was quite the prince charming and convinced me that it was "sorta cute". Ya old smoothie. Anyhow, he was quick history but had helped me recover from that terrible, awful, tragic time in my childhood . *half lidded smirk* Hey, what's life without a little drama?

So there you have it. The story behind little LAM and a better understanding of my aversion to kickball fields.




~LeeAnn M.

A blog about jewelry design??

Why yes of course. Trust me, I'll spare you the "yawn-stretch" details of what colors and styles are in as well as what the hot designers are putting out. This blog is about what goes on in the workshop, my bead hunting adventures (as well as misadventures), pieces that made it to my online shop, those that...er...didn't quite make it, and all the gory business growing pains that no one likes to talk about.

Some background first to catch you up. I'm a thirty-something professional that has a passion for bold and/or unique handcrafted jewelry regardless of whether or not it is of my creation. I'm a Reinsurance Accountant by day and jewelry designer by night. No, I don't wear a beaded cape and ride around on a pink motorcycle chasing down jewelry fashion crimes. I realize that some of you would like to see such a position filled, but some of those pieces are wonderfully wild and interesting. That being said, my creations are nowhere near that level of "outrageous" but I'm not one for following the ever so predictable migratory patterns of the flock either.

I've been making jewelry for about four years now and finally started my biz in May of '07. I look back at some of the pieces I had made years ago and think to myself, "Oh good grief! And people were actually telling me to run with this new found talent??"

Not that I'm ready for the cover of "Beader's Mag" but it has been fun watching my designs and skills improve with each piece I've created over the years. Learning new techniques has been key. I've made one of my short term goals for '08 to learn at least three new techniques. One of which is photographing jewelry. Trust me, one measly little picture can make or break a piece listed in your online shop. Do your homework and learn how to use your digital camera and most definitely invest in Photoshop. My pics will do for now, but I will need to improve greatly in order to begin publishing my own marketing materials such as brochures and mini catalogs.

A tid-bit: I attempted a wire wrap without any instruction last year. The tangled mess is now a giant and expensive cat toy! The lesson? Reading is fundamental (remember those crazy commercials from the 80's??). What it kinda looked like:



Read about your craft/trade! I promise that it can only help your technique and raise your skill level.

I've met some great/helpful people and also reconnected with some old high school friends with this biz. I must admit that I've been very lucky thus far in that I have not run into any con artists nor have I experienced extreme bad luck with vendors. Oh don't get me wrong, I've tasted the bitter and have been snubbed and snickered at by plenty of folks. I just shrug it off as best I can and remind myself that rejection and ridicule come with the package. I'm sure there's plenty more to come and we all know the old saying "better grow some thicker skin". Don't be sensitive and take constructive criticism seriously as it can and will help improve your designs and/or business practices. As for the obnoxious comments and jibes, consider the source and then learn to laugh it off. More than that would be a waste of your time. So fo'geddit! ;)

Enough about me and on to the moments behind the curtain! I will end the intro post here and invite you to come back and check out my stories.


Enjoy!

~LeeAnn