You know that section in Barnes and Noble where they sell all the discounted books? About 7 years ago as I was indulging in my first and most consuming addiction which is anything to do with books---I found myself sipping my cappucino and browsing this section and I came across a kid's book with supplies and instructions for making beaded jewelry. I can't remember the price but I'm sure it couldn't have been more than a couple of dollars. I played around with my new toy and this is what I made:

The beads were really cheap; so many were mishapen and irregular in size and I think some of the color rubs off on most of them. I didn't know about the difference in quality in beads, I'm sure I thought a bead is a bead, right? I wouldn't learn about quality until I'd exhausated the book's ideas and run out of beads and found myself in the local bead shop where quality was the rule rather than the exception (and the price was MUCH higher). But even with sorry beads, I really like this. The book didn't say what technique it was (netting) but it was fun playing with colors, shapes and patterns. I was hooked.
And this was something Mom didn't do. My Mom did
*everything* fiber art related
and she did it all really well. When I was a kid she tried to teach me to knit. That didn't take. But this...this I could do and when I showed her the things I was making, she was impressed! Wow did that feel good. I was tempted to write that the emotional high was being able to impress the unimpressable, but maybe that's not fair. I don't know that she was never impressed. She was just reserved with her emotions and praise. It didn't matter. I liked how I felt and I'd made something wearable and pretty. But life got busy and I really didn't do much after this until Mom passed away. In my grief the only two things besides my family that sustained me were my little dog and beading.
Sometime in the first year after Mom was gone I took my first class at the local bead shop that taught me basic bead weaving techniques including all the in's and out's of the different supplies and materials available, and I was off and running. The instructor was an artsy hippie sorta free spirit and really, really fun. I picked up the techniques pretty easily--starting with herringbone (ndebele), right angle weave peyote both flat and tubular and double spiral weave. All this stitching and I didn't know the first thing about basic stringing. Crimp beads? What's that? I don't really like simple stringing even now. *yawn*
Now I was equipped with the basics and I had a go to teacher if I got stuck on something, so I started haunting all the bead shops. I'd since branched out and found several more within driving distance. I would make mental notes of some of the beautiful, creative examples and go home and craft my own versions.
I had spurts of beading productivity that amaze even myself. There was (is) something so meditative and soothing about some of the stitches...peyote in particular, for me anyway. My "grief therapy". I'd sit in my chair with my little dog tucked in close next to me, my craft pad and beading project in my lap and I'd just get lost in color and pattern and in no time I had a bracelet. This always led to a minor dilemna...how to finish it, what sort of closure? And now I really, really missed my Mom. Now I really had something more accomplished to share with her...
I still miss her an awful lot.