across the front. “Dee for short. I feel so bad.”
I touch the bump
on my heads that’s growing by the minute. “No big deal. I’ll be fine.”
She moves my
hand away, just like my mother would’ve done to check out the bump. “We open
early one Sunday a month, and hardly ever see anyone then,” she explains.
I shake her hand,
taking a closer look at her hair and wonder if that’s what my hair would look
like if I got it cut.
“Come on in and
join us,” Dee offers.
One lady at the
table looks up but continues stringing. I walk in and look at the bracelet she’s
designing, realizing that I’d much rather join them than keep jogging.
“Have you ever
made a bracelet?” She holds it up, letting me touch it as it dangles in the
air.
“No, I haven’t,”
I admit. The Swarovski crystals glisten in the natural light. “Very nice,” I
admire the shimmering stones and another cool design on the gray board.
“Want to try?”
Dee offers, again.
“I don’t think
so.” I start to laugh, and immediately notice her defense shield go up. “I mean,
I don’t have a single creative bone in my body. I’d embarrass your store.”
“Don’t be
silly.” Dee walks me around her store, showing me the different levels of
beading customers.
“Thanks for your
vote of confidence, but I think I’ll pass today.” I leave the door open for
another day, maybe.
“Come sit down.”
Dee pulls out a chair as if she didn’t hear me.
She’s
relentless. No wonder her store is packed when I run by. And I find myself
obeying.
“See, you pick
out the beads and lay them on your bead board.” Dee points to the gray board in
front of me. “I like to put a space between my beads so the wire bends better
when you wear it.” She points to the silver beads. “All you do is pick out a clasp.
Or toggle.” She shows me a different clasp with a circle and bar.
I follow her
directions on how to crimp one end of the clasp and start designing my own
bracelet. The running shop sale has now become a faint memory.
I can’t believe
all the different beads to choose from. One wall is full of bins that house different
glass beads while the opposite wall is full of silver beads with different
designs. Beads hang down from the wall on ropes. Each bead is priced
differently and comes from different parts of the world. I pick up a tiny
bottle.
“Those are seed
beads.” Dee approaches me with an amused look on her face. “I suggest starting
with something a little bigger. Those will take you forever to string.”
She’s right; I
can’t imagine trying to hold one of those beads and stringing it one at time. I
scan down the bins and notice that the holes get a little bigger with each
bead. The cat-eye beads are amazing. The white swirls around each bead, giving them
an almost iridescent effect.
“Those look awesome
with end caps on them.” Dee shows me a couple different silver findings that
fit on each side of the bead like a little frame.
Dee moves on,
picks up a few tie-dyed looking beads in all different shapes. “Those are
chevron beads. They make pretty cool necklaces.”
The assortment is
overwhelming.
“How about
making one for yourself?” Dee puts an empty bead board, next to the group of
other beaders.
Surely, I can
string a few beads, and save the fancier designs for alter. I’ll worry about
being creative next time.
“I’ll stick to
the dynamics and then I may try to be a bit more creative,” I tell her.
The group of
older women greet me by telling me how beading is good for their arthritis. I
like them, and I like it.
“I want to make
four bracelets. One for each of my three best friends.” I look at the bracelet
I just finished with a little more confidence.
“I think that’s
a great idea.” Dee unravels some wire from a spool. “We have a girlfriend night
where you can come with your friends, bead, eat and drink wine.”
I explain my
situation and how I am living here alone. I let her know I
I touch the bump
on my heads that’s growing by the minute. “No big deal. I’ll be fine.”
She moves my
hand away, just like my mother would’ve done to check out the bump. “We open
early one Sunday a month, and hardly ever see anyone then,” she explains.
I shake her hand,
taking a closer look at her hair and wonder if that’s what my hair would look
like if I got it cut.
“Come on in and
join us,” Dee offers.
One lady at the
table looks up but continues stringing. I walk in and look at the bracelet she’s
designing, realizing that I’d much rather join them than keep jogging.
“Have you ever
made a bracelet?” She holds it up, letting me touch it as it dangles in the
air.
“No, I haven’t,”
I admit. The Swarovski crystals glisten in the natural light. “Very nice,” I
admire the shimmering stones and another cool design on the gray board.
“Want to try?”
Dee offers, again.
“I don’t think
so.” I start to laugh, and immediately notice her defense shield go up. “I mean,
I don’t have a single creative bone in my body. I’d embarrass your store.”
“Don’t be
silly.” Dee walks me around her store, showing me the different levels of
beading customers.
“Thanks for your
vote of confidence, but I think I’ll pass today.” I leave the door open for
another day, maybe.
“Come sit down.”
Dee pulls out a chair as if she didn’t hear me.
She’s
relentless. No wonder her store is packed when I run by. And I find myself
obeying.
“See, you pick
out the beads and lay them on your bead board.” Dee points to the gray board in
front of me. “I like to put a space between my beads so the wire bends better
when you wear it.” She points to the silver beads. “All you do is pick out a clasp.
Or toggle.” She shows me a different clasp with a circle and bar.
I follow her
directions on how to crimp one end of the clasp and start designing my own
bracelet. The running shop sale has now become a faint memory.
I can’t believe
all the different beads to choose from. One wall is full of bins that house different
glass beads while the opposite wall is full of silver beads with different
designs. Beads hang down from the wall on ropes. Each bead is priced
differently and comes from different parts of the world. I pick up a tiny
bottle.
“Those are seed
beads.” Dee approaches me with an amused look on her face. “I suggest starting
with something a little bigger. Those will take you forever to string.”
She’s right; I
can’t imagine trying to hold one of those beads and stringing it one at time. I
scan down the bins and notice that the holes get a little bigger with each
bead. The cat-eye beads are amazing. The white swirls around each bead, giving them
an almost iridescent effect.
“Those look awesome
with end caps on them.” Dee shows me a couple different silver findings that
fit on each side of the bead like a little frame.
Dee moves on,
picks up a few tie-dyed looking beads in all different shapes. “Those are
chevron beads. They make pretty cool necklaces.”
The assortment is
overwhelming.
“How about
making one for yourself?” Dee puts an empty bead board, next to the group of
other beaders.
Surely, I can
string a few beads, and save the fancier designs for alter. I’ll worry about
being creative next time.
“I’ll stick to
the dynamics and then I may try to be a bit more creative,” I tell her.
The group of
older women greet me by telling me how beading is good for their arthritis. I
like them, and I like it.
“I want to make
four bracelets. One for each of my three best friends.” I look at the bracelet
I just finished with a little more confidence.
“I think that’s
a great idea.” Dee unravels some wire from a spool. “We have a girlfriend night
where you can come with your friends, bead, eat and drink wine.”
I explain my
situation and how I am living here alone. I let her know I
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