Beads! Glorious Beads!

I've been going through my old columns from the paper I wrote for and thought I'd share one here:

By Caryl
11.14.05

Hi, my name is Caryl and I'm a beadaholic.

It all started out innocently enough. I was visiting my sister and her family, looking forward to helping with my niece's slumber party. "What can I do?" I offered. I was handed a big bowl of assorted beads and asked to pick out the tiny pins that had somehow gotten mixed in.

And so it began. Little did I know that simple task would develop into an obsession. Beads! Glorious beads!

As I sat that night, scooping up handfuls of the tiny, colorful spheres, noticing the way some caught the light and how various shades of color worked together, it became almost hypnotic. I separated out the pins, but found myself putting aside favorite beads as well, wondering what I could make with them.

When I finally looked up, the girls were asleep all around me in their sleeping bags and my sister was cleaning the kitchen. Oh, Devil Beads! I had been lured away by their beauty and I was theirs.

Back home, I began visiting craft stores, comparing prices and learning about jewelry making. I scored some exceptional supplies online. As I got deeper into the process of stringing and gluing, wayward beads showed up in my car, between the cushions of the couch and in my husband's lunch. The carpets had to be inspected before I vacuumed to prevent sucking up one of my precious little beauties.

Finally I had a thought that maybe I could sell some of this stuff. I was making more bracelets, earrings, necklaces, key chains, ornaments and beaded dog bowls than I could use in my lifetime. So, I took a deep breath and signed up for my church's annual Arts and Crafts Bazaar.

I must admit I'm a little scared. This is no rummage sale. The New Hope Bazaar has vendors who do this kind of thing for a living. I don't want to become a laughing stock at the next bell choir rehearsal. Despite my worries, I'm plodding on. It's something me and my beads have got to do.

So now that I've made this leap from closet beader to entrepreneur, I need a name. No biggie, I'm a writer, after all. I closed my eyes and allowed years of word play to fly into action!

I mulled over the words that describe what I'll be selling and tried a little word-play. "Caryl's Crafts", "One Crafty Mother," "Bling", "Bling Yourself," "Beads, Beading, Beadier," "Beader's Digest", "Bead My Love", "Refried Beads". Wait. What?

Not as easy as I thought it would be. So here I am, days away from the big bazaar and still no name. I'll think of something, but in the meantime I'm beading for my life. It's all I can think of as I rush to be ready.

The other day my son asked what was for dinner as I slid a soccer ball bead onto the black imitation leather cording I pinched in my fingers. I answered, "Franks and beads." Maybe I should look for a twelve-step program.