jeweled horizons: "The Hunt" in Istanbul

jeweled horizons: "The Hunt" in Istanbul: Last month I took a trip with my daughter to Istanbul.  We had been there before, and remembered it as a fabulous destination.  The sights,...

"The Hunt" in Istanbul

Last month I took a trip with my daughter to Istanbul.  We had been there before, and remembered it as a fabulous destination.  The sights, the food, the bazaar--these make it an A++ holiday.  My favorite take-away from Istanbul is the same as it was in the 80's when I first went:  it's the skyline. There are soaring, ancient minarets in every view.  In the old city wherever you stand, there are hauntingly beautiful spires reaching heavenwards.

So we saw the sights (again), and ate the delicious food (again), and wandered in the Grand Bazaar (again).  We cruised down the Bosporus in a tourist boat, and visited Topkapi Palace and other famous land marks.  We also, naturally, were on a bead hunt.

Before I left I had researched beads in Turkey.  To my knowledge, Istanbul is not a bead haven, like Africa, or South America.  It's a crossroads surely.  Beautiful jewelry is everywhere--from Europe, from the Balkans,  from the Middle East. Jewelry, but not beads.

Except for one.  The evil eye bead is in every shop, and from what I can discern, every house and car in Turkey.  The shops in the Grand Bazaar sell factory made  blue glass Chinese evil eye beads.  But with research I learned that hand made evil eye beads are made in Turkey.  There is a town, Izmir, where now only three master bead makers make wound glass beads with a fire kiln.  These beads are not in many shops in the Grand Bazaar,  but they can be found "behind the spice market, up the hill, and in the buttons and textile district".

Ovbiously, we had to find them.  It wasn't easy.  We took two days.  By then I knew three words in Turkish:  "thank you", "eye', and "bead".  On the second day, I saw a sign with Beduc nazar (bead, eye), and followed a maze of hallways and stairs, and then suddenly there they were:   lovely hand made glass evil eye beads, hand made in Turkey.  And in this untraveled section, we also were rewarded to find Turkish goods at a fraction of the prices in the Spice Bazaar and elsewhere.

Istanbul is a fabulous vacation destination.  The sights, the food, the bazaar make it an A++ holiday. But for us, The Hunt, and the Discovery, made it truly remarkable.

Long Strands of Hand made wound glass Evil Eye beads made in Izmir, Turkey

Surrounded by Creatures

In a very short span of time I went from being "Mom" in a busy household of six, to living alone.  My daughter gave me her very special "dog-like" cat for company.  To fill up time I started my jewelry business, joined non profit boards, village government, and started a garden.

It's a vegetable garden, but my first priority is that it provides aesthetic pleasure. Therefore there are sunflowers, red runner beans, hollyhocks, and lots of paths.  The crops are carefully chosen for my table:  garlic, chard, fingerling potatoes, salad greens, tomatoes, asparagus and always--a Three Sisters garden comprising corn, beans and pumpkins.  The corn is never a winner, but it does hold up the red runner beans, and, after all, it's all about The Beauty.

I rotate my crops from raised bed to raised bed, but even so, the potato beetles and the Japanese beetles always find the potatoes and beans.  And for some reason, the cabbage worms are so bad on my property that I can't keep up with them even when I come out every morning to pick off worms of only eight plants!

This summer, my daughter bought an adorable golden doodle puppy, and had to leave for her job overseas before he was old enough to travel.  So I have him.  His name is Patrick.  He's a darling full time job.  We walk on the beach two times a day, go to puppy classes, find puppy play dates, and he still has energy to spare.  His favorite thing to do is terrorize the middle aged cat, who amazingly does not put out her claws but does hiss and bat his face like a champion boxer.

Yesterday, exhausted by the animal action in my house, I walked over to the garden to see how things were doing.  I had picked off the Japanese beetles,  and cabbage worms early in the morning.  But for the first time, I saw asparagus beetles climbing up the leftover ferns.   But it wasn't until I looked over at my defoliated tomato plants to stare in the face of a huge, grotesque tomato horn worm that I felt totally inundated by creatures.

Holy Moly. I am in the middle of my own zoo!  I'm certainly not alone.

Three Good Books... Actually Six

 I only put it together yesterday that I have recently read three really good books, and all three have a commonality:  they depict the American immigrant experience.  I came to them at different times and for different reasons.   Several years ago I read Waiting, an award winner, and wonderful story of a man's long, patient wait to divorce his wife in order to marry someone else.  The book has a mesmerizing, meditative effect so that the subject of waiting becomes an undertone--abstract and strong--in the realm of music.  I'm currently reading  A Free Life, the 600 page novel of Nan and Pingping, a Chinese couple, immigrants from China at the time of Tienanmen Square, who work hard and long to make it in the U.S.   Ha Jin (pen name for Jin Xuefei) learned English as a college student in China.  He was at Brandeis during the  Tienanmen incident, and subsequently emigrated to the U.S. He writes his novels in English.

  This immediately reminded me of two other books I've enjoyed.  One is The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, and the other one is Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese.  I read Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies years ago when our family was living in Peru.  The Interpreter of Maladies is a collection of short stories where her characters share human problems, but in a cross cultural American Indian context.  Her novel, The Namesake, which was promptly made into an excellent film, depicts a Bengali couple, who move to Cambridge, and have two children.The novel focuses on the son, who was named Gogol, after a folly in the hospital.  As he grows up and learns about his father's reasons for choosing that name ("Everyone must come out of Gogol's overcoat") he makes peace with himself, his family and his heritage.

 In Cutting for Stone, Abraham Verghese writes the story of twin brothers in Ethiopia during a time of great turmoil there.  It will probably be a movie soon.    Dr. Verghese was born of Indian parents,  grew up in Ethiopia, and left during the civil unrest.  He studied medicine in India, and finished up in the U.S.  He, like Lahiri and Jin, writes of the American experience with an immigrant's eyes.  I had become acquainted with Dr. Verghese, now a medical professor at Stanford University, when I read The Tennis Partner, a memoir he wrote about an experience he had when he was teaching in El Paso as a  Professor of Medicine and Chief of the Division of Infectious Diseases.  That book is about his friendship with a young resident who became his tennis partner, and who was addicted to drugs.  I loved the way he wrote about tennis.  He recounted the greats from my era--Pancho Segura, Jimmy Connors, Arthur Ashe, among others--and got to the center of what is beautiful about the sport.  Cutting for Stone is a powerful plot driven story that follows the boys on their global and internal journeys.

As our world shrinks, our national literature grows.  These are riveting novels by talented, experienced and insightful writers.  They are Americans now, and teaching in our universities.  They teach us ,enlighten us, and tell good stories.

Components from 4 continents in this American made necklace

  Sooo, to make just a bit of a stretch for the tie-in:  As my beads are collected from all over the world, the jewelry itself is American, made in Maine.

Pearls

freshwater pearls with sterling silver and quartz crystals

  In the movie, "Titanic:, the elder Rose Dawson, tells the oceanographer, at the beginning of the film, that she knows about the sketch and the "heart of the ocean (sapphire necklace) ", because, as she calmly explains, "I am the girl in the sketch".  When she says this, she happens to be wearing a long necklace with silver and barrel shaped blue stones, probably sodalite.  I focused on the necklace in those few frames, and said to myself, "That looks like I made it.  As soon as I get home I'm going to make that exact necklace".
And I did, and it was, and it sold.  I didn't take a picture of it, so I would have to rent the film to go through that process again. But I still do have the materials.

Last week I watched "The Iron Lady", with Meryl Streep.  Margaret Thatcher apparently always wore her double strand of pearls, called 'The Twins", given to her by her husband after the birth of their twins.  It is a simple and classic double strand.

Pearls are in a class by themselves.  They have a long history, and a fine reputation.  They are elegant, rare, expensive, special.  Lately, they are less rare and less expensive due to the vast pearl farms in China.  Freshwater pearls are available at reasonable prices now.  In fact pearls come in all prices.  In Tucson last month, I strolled down the fine jewelry wholesaler aisles and saw single pearls selling for thousands of dollars.  I also saw freshwater pearls selling for a few dollars a strand.

dyed pearls with amber and citrine

Pearls are included in my inventory because of their beauty.  While a classic string of pearls comes with silk knotted after each pearl,  I combine pearls with deserving buddies.  A necklace of white pearls will include some sterling silver, and some quartz crystal. And golden dyed pearls might be accented with butterscotch amber, citrine,  silver or special brass.

A lady never goes anywhere without her pearls

My pampered and pedigreed aristocat doesn't go anywhere without her own personal set, complete with magnetic safety clasp.

The Tucson Gem Show

Rare Vaseline Beads made in Czechoslovakia

A couple of weeks ago I was in Tucson, Arizona for the annual bead and gem show.  This was only my second time.  It is a huge event for Tucson--in fact the biggest event of the year.  Actually, there are 42 different shows going on during the two week period.  Obviously a person can't attend them all.  I went to five, and it was too much to see and process.  Vendors come from all over the world, and it is safe to say that it is not just the biggest event in Tucson, but it is the biggest bead/gem show anywhere.  The convention center is filled with hundreds and hundreds of vendors.  Huge tents are set up all over the city; hotel ballrooms are flooded with stalls.  The entire city's hotels are completely booked just with the vendors.  I don't know where the buyers stay!

I try to keep myself under control.  There are only a few things I wanted to look for:  old African trade beads,  Hebron beads, tomato beads, wedding beads, pearls for the cat collars, interesting brass, check out the amber (just look!), check out the lapis and turquoise...

First of all, there were literally tons of pearls. The tents with the fine gems included pearls where a single pearl was valued at thousands of dollars. Strands of large baroque pearls were thousands of dollars.  I eventually found my way to very inexpensive pearl strands that would work fine for my needs.  I love lapis, but all the strands I saw were obviously dyed.  Beware:  most lapis and coral these days is dyed.  I won't use a dyed material, so, no purchases there.  My weakness is, was and ever shall be, African antique beads.

There is a place at the Tucson Gem and Bead show called African Village, and that is a must stop for me.  It is outside, and reminded me of Kofuridua in Ghana.  African traders had piles and piles of  beads for sale--  some cheap, some valuable.  The best way to do it is to walk around for a long time, looking at all the stalls, locating the beads, and prices you want.  In order to get the best prices, you have to choose one vendor, one stall, for your business.  So, the walking around, asking questions, sorting and looking takes a long time; the actual purchasing goes pretty fast (I would say too fast).  And that is what I did.  I found one place that had almost everything I wanted, and chose my beads.

I fashion valuable beads into wearable jewelry.  It is not really a profitable business because jewelry buyers are not necessarily bead collectors.  So while bead collectors (including myself) will spend real money on beads, jewelry buyers don't know or really care about that value.  Knowing this full well, I try not to buy really valuable beads.  However, my eyes strayed and stopped at the aquamarine vaseline beads, the large,antique white and blue Venetian beads, more amber, and old amazonite.  As we sat in the back of the shop and counted up my bill, with discounts on everything, I impulsively added the very expensive strand of vaseline beads.

Vaseline beads are glass beads which were made in Czechoslovaki over a hundred years ago for the African trade.  They came in many colors; red, yellow, green are common. Then there are the opaque vaseline beads.  The aquamarine  opaque strands are collector items, and, I was simply unwilling to leave it behind.

And I still don't regret it.

Lady Hester Stanhope

  In December, my daughter and I took a trip to Lebanon.  When we  lived in the Middle East in the 80's, we had  heard about the splendor of Beirut as the "Paris of the Middle East".   At the time few people went there because of the civil war.  Peaceful now, we were eager for the opportunity to visit.

  Besides Beirut, we seriously considered  a visit to Joun (Joon, Djoun) which is in the south.  This was my daughter's idea.  She wanted to see the final home of Lady Hester Stanhope.
 
  Lady Hester falls directly into the category of eccentric early 19th century women travelers.  Her mother had died when she was very young, and her father, an inventor, ostracized his six children.  Hester was the only one who stood up to him and was subsequently disowned.  However her uncle, William Pitt the Younger, invited her to live with him.  In fact,when he was premier in 1804, 28-year-old Hester was his hostess,  That was a happy high point for her.  She was witty and outspoken and could talk about politics and philosophy and other intellectual topics to her heart's content.  She had her first love affair during this period, but it was rather scandalous and the fellow was assigned to a posting overseas.  Her uncle died of ill health in 1806, and had made provisions for a small pension for her and her sisters.  However she didn't have the mobility as before.  She moved to Wales, but still was restless.  So in 1810 she set off, with her maid, a young doctor, and her brother James, for Gibralter.  She met a dashing young man along the way-- Michael Bruce, and together they traveled to Turkey and Greece, and then Egypt.  Along the way, she devised a plan to go to France, and ingratiate herself with Napoleon, with the purpose of  finding a way to get information back to England.  Fortunately the ambassador to France didn't issue a passport. 

Lady Hester Stanhope would have worn a necklace like this

  Here starts the Desert Queen segment of her life.  After they arrived in Egypt, Hester set about learning Arabic and Turkish.  On one of their expeditions they lost all of their clothes, so she put on what was available--Turkish attire--and found it comfortable.  From then on she dressed in flamboyant Turkish costume.   Arab leaders were impressed with her presence and unusual style, and received her, calling her Queen Hester.  She showed uncommon courage in her desert journeys among the Bedouin.  She amazed the Arabs with her man's dress and refusal to wear a veil .  Then Michael was recalled back to England, and that romance seemed to fizzle.  Hester decided to stay in the Middle East, and  eventually ended up in Joun, where she built a house on top of a hill.  She spent money she didn't have, and finally the British government cut off her pension to pay her debts.  At this point she became truly eccentric and reclusive, and penniless.  Her maid died; the other servants stole from the house, and she walled herself in her house before dying  alone with hundred of stray cats.  The faithful doctor, Charles Meryon, recorded her story.

So we seriously considered hiring a car and driving to see her house.  But then we learned that all that is left of Lady Hester's house is about two feet of ruins. Reluctantly we gave up that expedition and chose to visit  Byblos--the oldest inhabited port city in the world.

But the tragic story of Lady Hester Stanhope is haunting, and I can see that we might make it there some time in the future.

The Essence of Dining

 My daughter and I went into a busy mall in Abu Dhabi to have lunch.  She steered me towards an Indian food place she had tried before. It wasn't fancy. We sat down near a window, and pointed to a picture of an Indian plate of food that looked good.  The cheerful Filipino waitress made sure we were comfortable, and brought our fruit drinks.  After our food had come, and we had started dipping into sambols and  dals and vegetables, the waiter came out and asked, "Are you having a good time?"

A cappuccino in Beirut where we also had "a good time"

That is so much more to the point than "Is everything okay?" that I had to write it down.  

Why do I like beads so much??

Not exactly beads:  necklaces.  Beaded necklaces is what I collect, make and desire. 

I'm giving a talk tomorrow at a local gallery, and so this is the question that I will attempt to answer.  Gemstones, fine jewelry, gold chains and all don't really interest me. Antique jewelry does.  Separate beads are interesting, but it is the old beaded necklace that holds my attention. Why?

My parents were born in Arizona, and the fact that we visited grandparents in  Flagstaff when I was little is certainly a factor because the first jewelry I saw was large chunky necklaces of turquoise and silver.  I suppose it defined jewelry for me.  Later, on my first posting overseas in Jordan in 1980, I saw the large silver necklaces the bedouin women piled around their necks.  Then I scrutinized the amber, coral and turquoise beads adorning Tibetan , Asian and African women.  In South America I saw the huge quartz and stone necklaces of the ancient American cultures.

I will wear all of these for my talk tomorrow

I have the ironic problem that the beads I collect are valuable in their own right, but I've put myself in a jewelry buyer's market.  So where a bead buyer would appreciate the value of the beads I use, he only wants the beads. Yet the jewelry buyer usually wants a beautiful  necklace and doesn't care about the value of the beads.  There is a gap between the immediate beauty, and the historical and artistic value of the components that is bridged with education. 

For me, the necklace tells a story of culture, history, art and fashion. It is a universal testament to  beauty, art and adornment.  Humans have  strung together cut stones, worked metal, and  hand made beads, and thrown them over their heads to make themselves more beautiful, or more special, or more valuable for thousands of years.

That's why I like beaded necklaces so much.

Three kids, Ten bags and a Dog

After nearly twenty-five years is the Developing World, I can remember some scary situations.  In the early 80's, the place my daughter took piano lessons was blown up by the PLO shortly after she had walked home; Laurie Berenson had her shoot-out/arrest in Lima, a couple of blocks away from us; my husband drove through an intersection in Colombo, Sri Lanka 7 minutes before the prime minister was blown exactly there; and my family had to be rescued by the marines in boats, out of our house during a cyclone flood in Colombo.  There were other tough adventures.  But hands down/no contest, the hardest thing ever for me was taking three little children on 30+ hour journeys in airplanes.

I did this several times.   There was the time when we boarded a plane in Oman, setting off on our journey, three children in tow.  Before we started,my son, age 2, turned and (accidentally)swooshed his cup of milk right into the stewardess's face.  Then, fifteen minutes into the flight, he went back to his window seat, pushed up my lunch tray, and changed the location of the lunch to the front of my chest. Then it was apparent that he wasn't well, and used up all but two of his diapers.  And this was the first 30 minutes, with at least 25 hours to go.

But the most amazing of all was the story of our trip from Maine to Lima Peru in 1994.  At the time, I was in Maine with the two boys, ages 11 and 7, and 3-year-old daughter.  We also had acquired a three month old lab puppy, Jenny.  My husband was going to move directly to Peru from the last post.  I was moving our stuff, ourselves, and our puppy on my own from Maine.

It started out smoothly.  We caravan ed to Bangor, Maine airport as I had three kids, 10 bags and a dog.  Jenny went off in the conveyor belt; the bags did too.  I felt liberated with only the kids.  We got down to Boston, changed terminals, got in line for our boarding passes to Florida.  As I stepped up to the counter the clerk said, "I wouldn't go to Florida if I were you.  Hurricane."   I looked at him.  "I have 3 kids, ten bags and a dog.  What would you do if you were me?"  "Stay in a hotel," was the answer.  Well that wasn't in the budget, so he told me I could apply for some kind of "mercy" flight back to Bangor.  We crossed to another terminal, had a conversation and got tickets back to Bangor.  Then they told me they had lost the dog.  Apparently a handler somewhere had let her out of her kennel.  In time they found the dog and brought her back up on the main floor where she promptly piddled because she apparently had a urinary infection.

Once in Peru, I collected beads like this Peruvian turquoise and these sterling silver beads

We flew back to Bangor.  A friend picked us up.   She generously let us all--sick puppy and all--stay with her as we had rented out our own cottage behind us.  Three days later we tried the whole thing again.  We made it to Boston, and then we made it to Florida.  When we got to Florida, I lined up to get my boarding pass.  The clerk said, "Sorry.  We are overbooked.  I don't have a boarding pass for you."    "That's impossible," I said.  "Do you know I have three kids, ten bags and a dog, and I started this voyage four days ago?" He shrugged.  I told my 11 year old, to hold on to both children, and I took the elevator up to the first class lounge.  I got in with my diplomatic passport, sat down next to a nice gentleman from Maine, and told him my story.  He went to the receptionist there and asked her if she could get us four boarding passes for that flight to Lima.  She printed them right out.  I thanked him,  returned to my children, and went to the (economy) lounge for boarding.    As soon as we were seated in the airplane, a voice from on high  said, " We are overbooked; we will pay $ 500 for each boarding pass .

On any other day I would have taken that offer.  But not on that day.  I had three kids, ten bags and a dog, and we were going to Peru.

Wandering in a Souk

"Souk" is simply the Arabic word for “market”.  The spelling is phonetic, so it can be souk or suq or suk.

 Tijuana was my first experience walking around in a crowded, colorful and noisy foreign market. Only ten and on vacation, I delighted in the vibrant colors and vivid life swirling around the many stalls.

 Twenty years later I found myself in the souk in downtown Amman; then, in rapid succession, Damascus, Cairo, Jerusalem, Baghdad, Bahrain, Istanbul,  Sudan (Omdurman),Limassol,  Muscat and Nizwa.   I still can’t imagine anything I would rather do more than stroll through the maze of shops in a covered market in the Middle East.

Purchasing was never the goal, though hunting was the game.  And in true confessions, there was hardly a souk adventure that didn’t result in some kind of purchase, even if only rose scented oil.  My personal hunt was always for antique stone or silver beads, and amber.   I found my Circassian  belt (see blog 12/15/10) in the deep recesses of the Junk Souk in Amman.  The best souks for the silver jewelry I sought were in Nizwa and Muscat (Oman).   Damascus was said to be tops for gold and carpets.  (Maybe.  My experience is that nothing beats a New England auction for oriental carpets.)   The markets in Peru are wonderful places to browse for handicrafts.  Colorful sweaters, silver vases, and Andean candles are eye candy for the Sunday ambler.

If it is not about buying, then what is it about?  The market experience stimulates all five senses.  As you enter you smell the coffee and the spices from the spice souk.  Then you are bombarded by sound.  People are everywhere and they call out to you:  “Madam, madam, come into my shop”.  “Madam, madam, I have something for you”. “Madam madam, do you like jewelry?”  It’s probably something to get used to, but it is part of the market game.  Your vision is jammed full of colors and crafts, and people.  And there are always wonderful barbequed meats, and tapas, and sweets, as well as tea with the carpet seller.   Textiles are there for the touching:  silks in Kashmir and Damascus, leather in Istanbul, alpaca wool Peru.

The markets I have visited all over the world are exciting to me because for all their noise and excitement they are usually family operated fine art or craft businesses.  Once you are in a stall--say for a carpet-- the vendor is energized, running around trying to find what it is he thinks you want.  If you mention something he doesn’t have, a little boy/son/nephew/brother runs to another shop, to said vendor’s brother/uncle/ cousin, to bring it in.  The asking price is usually twice the selling price.  And it is your job to whittle it down.  Tea and biscuits while you haggle, are of course, included.

The closest thing to a Developing World market or souk experience in the United States is a regional craft fair.  They’re nice.  But I yearn for the noise, the color, the intrigue, dark corridors, and pungent smells of cardamom spiced coffee in a Middle Eastern souk.

What is Amazonite?

The other day I was showing a talented jeweler some of my pieces.  I started with the first ethnic necklace I ever bought overseas.  In 1980, I purchased a Bedouin necklace from a Jordanian business man who cleverly learned where all the expatriate women lived, and rang their doorbells to sell his wares.  That first necklace was a double strand; the inside strand having a single pendant of a light blue stone.  At the time, I wondered if it was turquoise.  The only aqua colored stone I knew was turquoise.  But "Shifty" (his apt nickname) told me it was amazonite (accented on the second syllable).  As the years went by I saw more and more amazonite in the Middle East and Africa,  and learned more about it.

old and faded amazonite

It's a type of feldspar, named after the Amazon River.  It's found in the Americas (recently Colorado);and these days, mostly Russia.  However, the amazonite I love the most are those very very ancient beads, recently excavated in Mali.   Ancient Egyptian jewelry often  features lapiz lazuli, amazonite, and gold.  The old beads are irregular in shape and often faded to a light green.

They've traveled far in time and location, and been highly valued all the while.

Bead Collection on a String

  I'm new to the craft show gig, and so I have been working on my booth.  I'm getting there.  Due to the nature of my jewelry, I am aiming for across between a Middle Eastern souk and a museum display. At The Rockland craft show I was immediately aware that my booth was missing a banner.  The banner would be a one-liner describing the essence of my product.
  I'm the first one to acknowledge that my beaded jewelry has a small market.  I'm also the first one to say that I'm not a jewelry maker.  I am two things:  I am a collector and a designer.  One could call the jewelry a bead collection on a string.  Or an  (arguably) artistically arranged bead collection on a string.  Therefore my work will appeal to those people who naturally gravitate towards old, handmade, culturally interesting beads.  I have found that this is an acquired taste, stemming from some experience or knowledge.  Like caviar.  Or like hats which totally defy gravity.  The more you see it/ hear about it, or taste it, the more you embrace it, whatever "it" is.  In Paris I was told that now the "right" way to eat chocolate is to smear olive oil on top of it.
  But I digress, and I don't think my work is as avant garde as an oiled chocolate bar.  But the foreign and exotic beads are more interesting to women who have seen them before, in shops, books, or in their travels.  This is how I finally arrived at my slogan:  "Artful beaded jewelry for interesting women".  It would probably be more accurate to call them interested women, but, interesting serves a purpose. 

"amber", antique red glass bead, hand cut sodalite, Peruvian turquoise, coin silver African bead

  Each necklace, or strung bead collection, has a story to tell, which starts outside this country. For instance, the necklace above is an example.  The piece as a whole has an Indian or Tibetan look because traditional Indian/Tibetan jewelry uses amber, turquoise, lapis lazuli and coral (as does Moroccan!).  However, nothing on this strand is from India.  I bought the "amber" on this necklace from Hudu, a bead seller in Ghana.  Hudu was magnificent to look at because he always wore satin robes and a matching hat whenever he was in selling mode.  He sold me these beads as amber, but I'm sure now that they are fake amber (see earlier blog post, "The lure of amber").  The turuqoise on this necklace is Peruvian turquoise, which is chrysocolla, found in Peru.  The dark blue stones are not lapis, but Peruvian sodalite, hand cut in Peru.  The red beads here are antique red glass beads traded in Africa for many years.  The coin silver beads are authentically African, which I bought from Hider in Ghana.  It's an international bead collection on a string.
 


 

Getting ready for a Craft Show

Jeweled Horizons will have a booth at the Maine Boat, Home and Harbor Show this weekend in Rockland, Maine.  This is a huge show, with several tents, and exhibits  going on.  Thousands of visitors are expected.  In order to be ready I have to plan carefully what I will take, and what the booth will look like.  This time I am going to try something new .  Usually I set the necklaces out on the table, grouped by color; sometimes by price.  This time I am going to have several "necks" out, and will stack several  pieces on each one.  Then the extras will be piled up in trays.  Potential customers will have to lift them up to separate them and decide what they like.  The display will be (hopefully) eye catching, and (certainly) a bit chaotic.  The idea will be to create a booth that is clearly foreign and exotic because the jewelry I design is like that.  It appeals to those who have traveled, or who have a taste for ethnic and collectible pieces.  I anticipate that people will either pass it quickly, or come and spend some time.  I will take some furniture, maybe a carpet , certainly a background screen, to add some atmosphere.  I have several baskets and a check list so that I don't forget something important. Inevitably I will forget something; hopefully it will be minor.
Oh! Which reminds me:: The car is packed, but I almost forgot to include the mirror, which , for a jewelry booth, is not minor.   

Two Seasons

In Maine, people say there are four seasons, summer, fall, winter, and mud.  However, in some ways, there are two:  summer, and the rest of the year.  More than any other place I have lived, there is a deep separation between these two times of the year.  First of all, it is well known that the population expands exponentially in the summer.  Let's face it; it is a vacation state.  And that has real implications for the year round population.  While the year rounders have their lives, their routines, their meetings, things go topsy-turvy come June.  People VISIT.   Naturally jobs must continue, but club meetings and nonprofit board meetings stop. Routines change.  One may live in the same house, but lead a very different life style, see different people, and do different things from the rest of the year.  And this is accepted and expected.  One may as well say goodbye to one's winter buddies as if leaving on a cruise ship in mid June, only to return after Labor Day.  It also has something to do with the dramatic climatic differences.  All of a sudden folks are outside, gardening and swimming , hiking with their visiting friends and relatives, instead of  watering indoor plants, going to an indoor gym, or taking walks bundled up in several layers.

I admit I may be overstating this because I lived so many years in  one-climate locals.  Actually,  for eighteen years we had Christmas in 100 degree climates.  Oman and Sri Lanka have year round tropical weather, and Peru is in the southern hemisphere, so December 25 is the middle of summer. Near the equator the sun rises and falls at about the same time all year.  My book clubs and charity board meetings met every month, and life went on at a steady pace.  People may have taken their own time off, but the system never  just stopped.

Actually, it's true that Europeans just stop everything in August, as unknowing American tourists quickly discover.  The difference is that they get up and leave.  Here in Maine, the locals stay; they just live a life as different in routine from the rest of the year as their summer wardrobe.

A Garden Video

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJjHXjqYovk

My daughter, who knows a thing or two about making films, made this short film of my garden last week.  It's a bit corny with the clothes, and the dialogue--and was made spontaneously--but it gives one a feeling of this place in Maine.  Between the garden and my jewelry studio, I can stay absorbed for long periods of time. 

Often I wonder if I want to travel again, or find a job overseas .  But the problem is that it's hard to leave such beauty and serenity.   It must be my ruby slippers...

Hot and Cold; Hot or Cold

The other day I popped into a family grocery store.  It was middle June, and we were having an unusually chilly day—temperature in the fifties.   Unlike the winter, when I resemble a walking rummage sale (albeit a color coordinated one), I was wearing summer clothes.  Feeling cold,  I blurted to the checker, “BRRRR.  What’s with this weather?”

The young man looked at me, and said, “I love it!”  Speechless, I stared at him. “I love it”, he repeated.  “My favorite temperature is between 30 and 40.  But not snow.  I don’t like snow.” 

Knowing Mainers as I do, he is probably naming the 30’s and 40s as his T-shirt weather.  “Yea,” he continued, “I can’t take it when it gets to 60.”

As I had been silent he looked at me and said,” You probably like it hot.”

How to make a long story short!  My mind flashed back to another experience I had had in Maine, about sixteen years ago.  I had just come back for the summer from Sri Lanka, and was on the tennis court. My friend on the other side of the net, suddenly exclaimed, “OH I just can’t take this weather!”  It startled me; my mind reeled.  I came up to the net and said, in all sincerity, “Keith, tell me.  What is it for you?  Is it hot? Is it cold? Is it dry, or is it humid?”  I honestly had no idea.  For me, coming from Sri Lanka, it was chilly, and dry.  But sure enough, he was wilting under the heat and humidity.  After that experience I shook my head when I learned that Mainers were being sent to the Persian Gulf.  In full military regalia they would be more trouble than help.

So weather is relative.  As are so many other things.  Adaptability flexibility, “thinking outside the box”, etc. etc.--are important qualities to cultivate.   In my travels I have been on a personal quest for universals.  In 1991 I got a masters degree in Teaching English as a Second Language.  In the linguistics section, we learned about Transformational Grammar, which was Noam Chomsky’s attempt to find a universal grammar to relate the world languages.   It is an underlying grammar, a concept of subject and action, more than the “surface grammar” of a particular language.  That is how I approach relativism.  Though my experience tells me that manners and art and customs, and religions vary on the surface, there is an underlying universal.  For weather, and my Mainer friend, too hot is 60 degrees.  But still there is a concept of hot and a concept of cold.  It reminded me of something I had read many years ago: “Relativism has at its core one’s own ego and one’s own desires.”  

All this in an instant.  I told the young man that while I didn’t love hot weather, I could take it.  I had lived in a country which regularly registered 110F and 90 percent humidity (Oman).  For him that was hell itself. And I walked out of the store with his words ringing in my head; “I love it between 30 and 40”.

Can a string of pearls have quartz and brass and Tibetan pearls and still be a string of pearls?

Hard to find a necklace for this blog.  How’s this one?  Pearls with a twist.

A good life versus the good life

I live in a small town here in mid coast Maine.  Many of the cliches about small towns hold true.  Everybody does seem to know everybody’s business.  But the simple solution to that is to live an exemplary life.

Last week, a beloved member of our town was struck down by cancer, too early in her life.  As I sat in the packed church at her funeral I thought hard about well-lived lives.  She left a broken hearted  family, a sad husband of 39 years, grandchildren, and both parents.  She was a tireless nurse in the community, a very involved grandmother,  and a cum laude gardener and cook.  The packed church was a tribute to her character and goodness.

My children hated it when I said, every now and then that, “life is tedious”.  It’s a phrase I picked up from my parents.  I agree that it sounds negative, but I don’t mean it at all in a negative way.  What I mean is that a good life is one where you put in the day in and day out all the way through.   Little kids can be such work, and require patience; they get up early seven days a week, they have tantrums and colds and need to be disciplined and loved.  Marriages have their ebbs and flows.  Jobs aren’t always stimulating and rewarding.  But there is nobility in the perseverance.  It’s a lesson I learned in Jordan when I was teaching for the Jordanian Tennis Federation.  I was a 28 year old American female, facing off with ten middle aged Arab males.  Naturally we disagreed on some points.  But I told myself that no matter what, I would not quit.  They couldn’t drive me out.  “Winning” became simply staying in the game.

My friend passed away too early; that is for sure.  Yet, her life was celebrated by the town, and her good life made an impact.  Her family and friends will always remember her as the wonderful woman that she was.


     This necklace is made of Whitby Jet.  These are antique beads, hand carved in England.  Queen Victoria made jet famous when she wore it exclusively after her beloved Albert died.  Whitby Jet is an organic material, related to coal.  It can be carved and polished to a shiny luster.  French Jet isn’t really jet; it’s glass.  But as jet became fashionable, the black glass beads became popular as well. 

Mixed Message and Mix-Ups

This weekend the University of Maine Hutchinson Center will host the Festival of Art, where local artists, over 50 years old, will display one piece of art.  My entry, pictured below, is 'Mixed Message".  The beads and the style are a blend of several continents and cultures.

Mixed Message for Festival of Art

I was reminded the other day of  situations I would call "Mix-Up".  I guess with the demise of Bin Laden, and the fact that one of my book clubs is researching Islam, I am remembering some anecdotes about my experiences in Jordan.  More ironies.  In Jordan I met very well educated and accomplished women, who were Muslims.  They were not held back intellectually; and they embraced their religion, and felt it provided respect and dignity for women.  I remember that I learned  that for some in the Middle East,  "Christian" was a synonym, for "decadent".   For Muslims  who hadn't traveled,  Christians were the ones who got drunk,  gambled, committed adultery, and  crimes.  Christian women were loose women, evidenced by the way they dressed and behaved. Mix-Up.

In Jordan I learned about Arab hospitality, and had to learn to censor my American style of efficiency and abruptness.  I had to make calls to alert players about their playing time for a tennis tournament, and caught myself saying, "Hello? Abdullah? Hi.  Your match is at 9 AM on Saturday."  That was tremendously rude.  I should have said, " Hello?  Abdullah?  How are you?  How is your health?  How's the family? How are your children? (and he would answer and inquire after my health, family, children etc).  Abdullah, we are having the tournament next week and I have your time.  Your match will be at 9 AM on Saturday."  I had to learn the proper etiquette.

A friend named Issam told me a true story that illustrates this contrast  well:

Issam had to take a trip to visit the U.S.  He had friends in America and was going to see them first.  So he traveled a long time, and connections were good.  He had no time to catch his breath or even quench his thirst.  From the airport he got his bags, and took a bus.  From the bus station his friends picked him up.  He was dying of thirst by the time they reached the home.  His hosts said, "Issam, you must be  thirsty, can we get you a drink of water?"  Isaam (of course) said, "No thank you".  [In the Middle East, when someone offers you  something, you say  "no", they ask again; you say "no", they ask again; you say" thank you" the third time.  Even if you say "no" the third time, they bring it to you]  But then, for Isaam, they didn't ask again, and they didn't bring him water.  Mix-Up.

And I have a totally unrelated Mix-Up to relate:  I taught English for the British Council in Oman.  Naturally, I taught British English.  For the most part, it was fun to see the slight differences in the American and British versions, especially in the pronunciations.  But in one lesson we were learning the gradations of "good".  There I saw that in British English, there is , starting from the top, "great", "very good", "good", "quite good", "bad".  I was surprised.  According to my understanding, "quite good" was better than "good".  I have done several informal surveys and most--not all--Americans agree that "quite good" is  better than "good".  This could be serious because I can imagine the American President talking the the British Prime Minister about some third party agreement; and the President saying  it is "quite good", thereby approving wholeheartedly. But the Prime Minister would get the idea that the Americans don't think it's very good at all.  Mix-Up

Mother's Day

For most of my adult life I lived overseas, and for some reason, Mother's Day was a different day overseas than it was in the U.S.  For instance, in Jordan and Oman this year Mother's Day was on March 21.  So between the long and unreliable mail service, lack of internet in those days, and expense of phone calls, I was sorely lacking in attentiveness to my mother.  Certainly mothers of elementary aged children are the best celebrated moms of all because teachers take time out to have the kids make cards.

But regardless of the ambivalence of older American children and expatriate grown up children, make no mistake:  The South American mothers are not overlooked!  This is no Hallmark day for them.  The first year we lived in Peru, we learned very quickly that the biggest holiday of all  is not Christmas, not Easter; it is Mother's Day.

Mothers are revered, and not just on Mother's Day.  There is a custom in Peru where kids kiss their moms hello and goodbye. Yes.  Really.  Adolescent males kiss their moms hello and goodbye. What is also notable is that kids' friends kiss their friend's moms, as a matter of manners.  I had teenage boys, and I saw with my own eyes my boys kiss, in greeting (the equivalent of "Hello Mrs. Baldino") their friends' mothers.  Their Peruvian friends kissed me. (but alas, no, my boys did not kiss me hello and goodbye; some cultural boundaries don't break down).  The point of which is just to say that Mothers are revered all year long.  I'm sure it is related to veneration of the Virgin Mary.

So in Peru, on Mother's Day, there is no restaurant available for brunch.  There are no flowers left in the shops.  There is no mother cooking or cleaning on that day.

So mothers, at dinner sometime, tell your families about the biggest holiday in Peru. Then tell them that while they missed Mother's Day in Jordan and Oman and UAE (March 21), and Portugal and Spain (May 1), there is still time to celebrate the day again with Sweden and France (May 29), Kenya (June 26), and again with Panama (Dec 8)!

Your mother, or mother of your children, would love some Peruvian Opals for Mother's Day