Tag Archives: triflesphere

Memoir Necklace, Chapter 1



It all begins with heart, where I feel you and she feels me. My heart knows the story. It is the keeper of my memoir.

Mine is a bleeding heart. Sanguine, it becomes like the surface of the moon. I find it covered with craters from the blows and dusted with rock formed from that which, only yesterday, flowed from deep inside of me. With no air to breathe, I return.

To recall the love that stitches together my life, giving hope, examples, and art. Buttons mending the wounds. Watching her sew, I’m there, lost in reverie.

Running my hand along the seams, I reach the basin left by lemon drops on my soul. I tell my friend how she makes me feel. Did she get it? I don’t know. That precious, scorched space, once safe, did fill leaving only a trace.

High above the mountaintops, I breathe in days and hours spent in meditation and prayer after my heart was finally forced open and soothed with love. Prepare me, God. Give me strength and courage to live and be free. Let love sustain me when the air is thin. It has. It will.

Smooth. I feel the tiny space I held open for love, now, fused with goodness and light. Stronger than before, it was well worth the wait. I am saturated. My heart is lush. Tender. Ripe.



Each sterling silver and 14K gold bead used in this necklace is handmade and designed just for this piece. The entire necklace is covered in a patina that ranges from heavy to light. The metal beads are wrapped in with 1.5 mm to 3mm labradorite beads. Some of the handmade beads are tiny like the one, here, on top of my finger.



Human Heart Bead-front

This sterling silver bead is slightly left of the center of the necklace. It is the focal point and the largest of all the beads included in this necklace. The human heart bead turns over to reveal the backside which was designed to look like the surface of the moon.


Human Heart Bead-back/surface of the moon side



Buttons and Stitches Beads

These small oval and short bar beads are made of sterling silver and 14K gold. They are included throughout the necklace.



Lemon Drops on my Soul Bead-front

This bead is sterling silver fused with 14K gold. A droplet was cut into the sterling silver bead and 14K gold was fused at the opening. On the front of the bead, the droplet form remains. The 14K gold can be seen on the back of the bead.


Lemon Drops on my Soul Bead-back



Prayer Meditation Bead-front

This one is less obvious than the others. It is sterling silver with 14K gold fused to the top. I see a person in prayer covered in a prayer shawl or a blanket. Her arms are wrapped around her.


Prayer Meditation Bead-back

The back side of the Prayer Meditation Bead is sterling silver. The raised mountain appears shiny and contrasts with the dark patina.



Fused Heart Bead-front

This bead was made using the same method I employed with the Lemon Drops on my Soul Bead. Instead of a droplet shape, a heart was cut from the sterling silver bead. With the Fused Heart Bead, the 14K gold can be seen on the front and the back of the bead.


Fused Heart Bead-back

Thank you for taking the time to read about this necklace. It is special to me.

Abundance and Uncertainty, Gratitude and Surrender

Abundant joy on my wedding day

Abundant joy on my wedding day

Thank you for this life. Thank you for this man. Please come, be with me. I need you to guide me.

My life is full. After years of turning down the volume on life, it’s, now, stuck on 11. There is abundance.

There is Love everywhere: waking up each day, enjoying everyone around me, and working harder than I’ve ever worked before. Love flows through me as I am full. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The South is more lush, now. The honeysuckle and magnolia fill my lungs as I run along the Chattahoochee on warm, sticky mornings. I see the fog reaching out of the water, toward the sky. I pray, again. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

My art, my jewelry, is better than it has ever been as I can more fully focus. No sound, just the quiet and those things that need to come up. I sit with each tiny bead. I focus on one at a time. I work. I am present, open. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

As I say thank you, I still feel the uncertainty, acutely. I tried to deny, ignore, fight, control, and just shut this all down. In the beginning, it was simply too much for me. God wanted to get my attention. I needed to hear. And I do. Still, some days, I have to pray a little harder for help letting go. Sometimes I get on my knees and beg. I visualize being in a horse drawn carriage and handing over the reins. God, here, you take this for me, please.

I don’t know where we are going. It sure is amazing–just beautiful! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Please, you keep leading the way.

Frozen Cage to Triflesphere

Looking out from my first dorm room in Anchorage, AK

Looking out from my first dorm room in Anchorage, AK

Anchorage in the winter is cold, a cold that makes me come undone.  That frozenness and the extended Alaskan darkness, intensified my isolation. It removed me from myself and the rest of the world.

Enduring the Alaskan winter, I felt immediate empathy for Minnie, the main character in Trifles. This early feminist, one act play by Susan Glaspell was assigned reading in my Women Dramatists class. In Minnie’s world, it’s below zero, winter, late 19th century. The play opens in her oppressively cold farmhouse kitchen. Her physical environment wasn’t the only cause of cold isolation. Minnie also had an abusive husband, a man who did not know warmth and was not sensitive to his wife or her joy.

Like Minnie, I had been in a relationship where my joy was subjugated. I was trying to take care of his needs instead of my own. I would get up in the middle of the night to give him a ride, buy him things that I couldn’t afford, spend time with him while neglecting relationships with true friends. I was drawn to him for many reasons, some known and some forgotten. My relationship insulated against any warmth that I could have experienced from a true relationship with myself or the few real friends I had. The pressure exerted by that coldness left me shattered like Minnie and her jars of preserves. I was a splintered mess. From the outside in and the inside out, I didn’t know what I was about, and I didn’t feel that I was worthy of anything more. It was painful knowing that, in a matter of months, I was going to be graduating from college and moving into the harshness of the real word. It’s just that my world up to that point had been harder than anything I could have imagined. In that last year alone, I was working a few part time jobs, getting good grades while carrying a full load in school, doing volunteer work, participating in a student organization, suffering from depression, facing another dark, cold winter, while being in a relationship that was supremely unhealthy for me. I didn’t feel a true part of any of it. I didn’t know what it meant to love myself. I felt perpetually wounded. It was like walking barefoot on shards of broken glass each day. I understood the pain of cutting, if not the reality of being a cutter.

It wasn’t just the piercing coldness of Minnie’s world that I related to, I identified with her caged bird. That gentle spirit, Minnie’s little canary, was broken without regard for the joy it gave. To Minnie’s husband, Mr. Wright, it was a nuisance, that bird. Something he would endure no longer; he just couldn’t be bothered. It was his house, his domain, and his will was law. The bird was property, just like Minnie was to him. He had no care for who Minnie was or what she may have wanted for herself.  What did Minnie want for herself when she had been a young girl, singing in the choir? Did she dream? Was she told what she would be? What had she wanted?

It spoke to me. What had I wanted for myself? I was about to graduate from college and I had nothing that I felt was mine. Yes, I was going to get my B.A., but not in a subject I chose, not really. My major was a forced backup, not anything artistic or creative that I wanted. I had worked really hard in school for something that wasn’t me.

In my last semester of college, before and after my Women Dramatists class, I would walk past the art rooms. Glancing in, I would see the students painting, sketching, and sculpting. It was as if I was back in the halls of my high school. Miles away, enough years later, I was again looking in to see what my world could have been. I knew what making art was to me. It was joy. I knew, deep inside of me, that small bit of joy was really my whole world — it was my triflesphere. I just had not yet learned how to be with that warmth and let myself fly. It was still winter and I hadn’t yet left my own cage.