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Monday, October 29, 2007


I've been tired a lot again lately, and while I have worked on paintings, mostly what I like to do when I'm tired is sit and bead. There's something about beads... each one a pretty, shiny thing, ready to be strung or woven. In a sense, beads are like words and findings, punctuation. In a box, they are an interesting jumble, but strung together they have structure, added beauty, and even meaning.

It brings back memories, too. When I was very young, my great-uncle Bill was losing his battle with cancer. His vision was very bad, because he had actually served in WWI, and, seeing mustard gas coming, he held off fixing his own mask on until he had made sure all his unit was aware of the danger and getting theirs on. But in spite of his illness and disability, he made delicate daisy chain bead necklaces while we were there, and I remember watching him work with them. Many people dealing with disabilities like beadwork, because it requires patience and time, but only limited mobility. When there are few things one can do, the skills one can use are appreciated more. He couldn't see the beads, really, but worked by touch, thanks to his wife having sorted them by color.

Speaking of meaning, here is a poem I wrote back in my college days.

I quest for a quest,
A reason d’etre,
Looking to sky and ground,
Heaven and earth,
Finding myself, always,
Somewhere in the middle.

I am not content
With earning a living.
I want to earn
My life. Who needs me?

There must be a purpose
Why I’ve been spared
The ultimate disaster.
(So many meaningless deaths occur,
Why am I granted life
Unless some meaning remains to be revealed?)
So I search the world,
Consider my soul,
Seeking the lock
I alone am key to.

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