Kateri's Story
Have you noticed how things seem to go in cycles? Particularly in the fashion world?
I was born in the early 60s and hit my teenage years in the 70s. There was a lot going on then, certainly a lot for a teenage girl to get into. My parents were separated (later to divorce) and my father had started a new hobby during the time he was away from me and my siblings. That hobby was making jewelry. He loved taking stones, polishing them and setting them in settings he had designed himself. As he was a scientist, the actual designs weren’t that great (he didn’t have the best imagination), but he made them for us and that made them special. I still have the rings he made me.
I was born in the early 60s and hit my teenage years in the 70s. There was a lot going on then, certainly a lot for a teenage girl to get into. My parents were separated (later to divorce) and my father had started a new hobby during the time he was away from me and my siblings. That hobby was making jewelry. He loved taking stones, polishing them and setting them in settings he had designed himself. As he was a scientist, the actual designs weren’t that great (he didn’t have the best imagination), but he made them for us and that made them special. I still have the rings he made me.
The story continues ...
Rings my father made me.
In the meantime, his periodic visits were often accompanied by things for me to play with -- beads, wire, findings, etc. I didn’t have any specialized tools at the time and often could be found trying to improvise bead needles (very thin wire), stringing material (waxed dental floss, embroidery thread), figuring out how to attach clasps –- things like that (fire was involved).
Popular materials at the time were turquoise, coral, puka and heishe shell, tortoise shell disks and liquid silver. I didn’t know the proper names of some of the beads (for instance, I called crimp beads “squishers”)
My father was not a demonstrative man. He was what could, at best, be called stoic or taciturn (though he could be very mischievious); it was a rare day indeed I ever heard him laugh--truly laugh, not just snicker as he plotted some mischief (there was a reason he was called "Doc Boom"!). He seemed to enjoy sharing this hobby with me -- my brother was too young and my sister didn't seem interested at the time -- and he certainly made sure my materials were well stocked, even the more expensive ones.
Time passed -- My parents' divorce became increasingly acrimonious. I discovered “boys”, grew up, got married, had a child, got divorced -- and life went on. Somewhere along the way, my “box of rocks” and materials disappeared. I never could remember what had happened to it, but I often thought back to those times with my father, just he and I, sharing the rudiments of creation.
Popular materials at the time were turquoise, coral, puka and heishe shell, tortoise shell disks and liquid silver. I didn’t know the proper names of some of the beads (for instance, I called crimp beads “squishers”)
My father was not a demonstrative man. He was what could, at best, be called stoic or taciturn (though he could be very mischievious); it was a rare day indeed I ever heard him laugh--truly laugh, not just snicker as he plotted some mischief (there was a reason he was called "Doc Boom"!). He seemed to enjoy sharing this hobby with me -- my brother was too young and my sister didn't seem interested at the time -- and he certainly made sure my materials were well stocked, even the more expensive ones.
Time passed -- My parents' divorce became increasingly acrimonious. I discovered “boys”, grew up, got married, had a child, got divorced -- and life went on. Somewhere along the way, my “box of rocks” and materials disappeared. I never could remember what had happened to it, but I often thought back to those times with my father, just he and I, sharing the rudiments of creation.
Fast forward ...
My antique First Holy Communion Rosary
Fast forward several years and two more children. I found myself in a Catholic bookstore looking for something very specific. I happened to see the rosaries locked up in the display cases. I STILL have my very first rosary, a gift for my First Holy Communion (February 25, 1968). It was an antique even then and is very closely guarded by me. My two youngest were in school. My middle child was preparing for his First Holy Communion; he and his younger sister, my baby, had become heavily involved with the Altar Server Program at our parish and I was looking for a book they needed.
In the display case was the most beautiful rosary I had ever seen in my life. I asked to see it, just to hold it. The weight was substantial–it was a deep, rose quartz; each of the beads -- a carved rose. I wondered if I could afford it–by this time, I was raising the children on my own; even the thought of receiving child support was laughable.
I turned over the price tag and almost dropped this masterpiece. This was in 2000
-- the cost even then was $300. There was no way I could afford it, no way I could ever justify it. The children and such basic needs as housing, food, clothing, etc., were (and still are) my priorities.
But something clicked in the back of my mind. I started examining it, very closely. While I am unable to twist wire (arthritis), something was awakening, something whispered to me, “you can do this”. I drove home in a very thoughtful mood.
Over the next few weeks, SOMETHING was percolating in my subconscious. Then it all "clicked". I suddenly knew just how I could make a rosary. Where I would get the materials, I had no idea, but Daddy was still alive, just a phone call and short 100 miles away. I could ask him. After calling him, he couldn’t remember where he had gotten the materials before -- all he could remember was a “rock shop” somewhere on a particular street in the back corner of a particular shopping center; they probably weren’t in business anymore. But they were.
On the way home that day, I had to hit WalMart for some things and as is my habit, I was wandering around the store to make sure I had everything I needed. Things started to catch my eye, things like fishing line to string beads. But it wasn’t stiff enough. So I needed very thin needles. Got them–and look there’s something called wire cutters and bags and bags of plastic beads in every color of the rainbow. Didn’t the Catholic bookstore* sell the crucifixes (and how late was it open)? And what were those center things called (connectors)? Didn't I see some of those at the bookstore as well? How would I thread the thin needles (the "eyes" were too small for even needle threaders)? And so it went.
In the display case was the most beautiful rosary I had ever seen in my life. I asked to see it, just to hold it. The weight was substantial–it was a deep, rose quartz; each of the beads -- a carved rose. I wondered if I could afford it–by this time, I was raising the children on my own; even the thought of receiving child support was laughable.
I turned over the price tag and almost dropped this masterpiece. This was in 2000
-- the cost even then was $300. There was no way I could afford it, no way I could ever justify it. The children and such basic needs as housing, food, clothing, etc., were (and still are) my priorities.
But something clicked in the back of my mind. I started examining it, very closely. While I am unable to twist wire (arthritis), something was awakening, something whispered to me, “you can do this”. I drove home in a very thoughtful mood.
Over the next few weeks, SOMETHING was percolating in my subconscious. Then it all "clicked". I suddenly knew just how I could make a rosary. Where I would get the materials, I had no idea, but Daddy was still alive, just a phone call and short 100 miles away. I could ask him. After calling him, he couldn’t remember where he had gotten the materials before -- all he could remember was a “rock shop” somewhere on a particular street in the back corner of a particular shopping center; they probably weren’t in business anymore. But they were.
On the way home that day, I had to hit WalMart for some things and as is my habit, I was wandering around the store to make sure I had everything I needed. Things started to catch my eye, things like fishing line to string beads. But it wasn’t stiff enough. So I needed very thin needles. Got them–and look there’s something called wire cutters and bags and bags of plastic beads in every color of the rainbow. Didn’t the Catholic bookstore* sell the crucifixes (and how late was it open)? And what were those center things called (connectors)? Didn't I see some of those at the bookstore as well? How would I thread the thin needles (the "eyes" were too small for even needle threaders)? And so it went.
Experimenting ...
One of my first attempts
I started experimenting and again, the results were very rudimentary (show early rosaries). I figured out how to use the specialized tools; I figured out how to properly space and string the decades, attach the connectors and crucifixes. Meanwhile, my children advanced in their Altar Serving Program (my son in particular was teaching his own First Holy Communion Class and openly challenging the teaching Deacon to test him in his Altar Serving duties. He was leading prayers during holy hours and occasionally preaching–at the age of 8). I became very prolific in my rosary production. I worked out a deal with the school the children attended (you either had to donate 36 hours volunteer time or $360 dollars per child per year) –- I would make and donate all the rosaries for the Confirmants and First Communicants and it would be counted as my volunteer hours in full. Being the cub scout leader didn’t count (yes, I did that as well).
She always had the talent ...
Daddy & step-mom
My father had re-married by this time and he and my step mom were so proud of their grand children they made a special trip to Tucson (they lived in Phoenix at the time) to watch their grand children serve Mass. While they were in town, of course they came to my house to visit. My boyfriend at the time, not knowing my father had introduced me to this hobby, started making bragging noises to my father (I was busy making rosaries during our visit) about my “talent”. My father just smiled in a wistful way, looked at his own hands, hands now twisted and destroyed by severe arthritis, looked at me, and in an odd voice said, “I always made sure she had beads growing up and this is why. She always had the talent; she just put it away for awhile.”
I looked up and saw something I had never seen before -- ever. That was a tear rolling down my father’s face, accompanied by a smile of pride.
Unbeknownst to me, that was the last time I would see my father alive. The next time I saw him, he was in a coma and died shortly thereafter. He couldn't speak; all he could do was open his eyes, acknowledge he knew I had arrived and then--he let go. I would never again see those crystal blue eyes of his meet mine.
By this time, I was acquiring quite a collection of beads, connectors, tools, general basic building materials. Then, the ticking bomb inside me went off. I became obsessed with making better, prettier, more substantial rosaries. I had only worked in silver and gold tone and faceted plastic. I started experimenting with semi-precious stones, "novelty" beads like ladybugs and leaves, started searching out unusual crucifixes, different connectors, putting an individual stamp on them. The holy hours the children were involved in began commissioning me as the sole provider of the rosaries the children used; word got around. I remembered the “lasso” I had been married in (a double rosary draped around the bride and groom) and re-created it.
Always learning, always growing, always experimenting. I re-discovered the “rock shop”** my father used; I learned about better stringing material, materials that wouldn’t break or wear out. I remembered the rock and gem shows and haunted them for beads for that special touch.
Bracelets, ankle bracelets, key chains –- all of them rosaries. One drawer of a dresser was now dedicated to my hobby.
I looked up and saw something I had never seen before -- ever. That was a tear rolling down my father’s face, accompanied by a smile of pride.
Unbeknownst to me, that was the last time I would see my father alive. The next time I saw him, he was in a coma and died shortly thereafter. He couldn't speak; all he could do was open his eyes, acknowledge he knew I had arrived and then--he let go. I would never again see those crystal blue eyes of his meet mine.
By this time, I was acquiring quite a collection of beads, connectors, tools, general basic building materials. Then, the ticking bomb inside me went off. I became obsessed with making better, prettier, more substantial rosaries. I had only worked in silver and gold tone and faceted plastic. I started experimenting with semi-precious stones, "novelty" beads like ladybugs and leaves, started searching out unusual crucifixes, different connectors, putting an individual stamp on them. The holy hours the children were involved in began commissioning me as the sole provider of the rosaries the children used; word got around. I remembered the “lasso” I had been married in (a double rosary draped around the bride and groom) and re-created it.
Always learning, always growing, always experimenting. I re-discovered the “rock shop”** my father used; I learned about better stringing material, materials that wouldn’t break or wear out. I remembered the rock and gem shows and haunted them for beads for that special touch.
Bracelets, ankle bracelets, key chains –- all of them rosaries. One drawer of a dresser was now dedicated to my hobby.
Time marches on ...
Watch made for me by step-sister Kay
Time, as is its nature, marched on. I learned how to make angels after 9/11. Those angels are now the earrings you can find here. More time; now necklaces and badge holders/peeper keepers joined the list of things I could make. My step sister made me a watch – the original watch became the pattern and inspiration for my line - the line you see here on this site.
Original treasures ...
Original "rock box"/materials
One day, as my oldest and I were cleaning out a closet at my mother’s house after her death (now my house through my mother's estate), something caught my eye. There–buried far back on a shelf, nestled amongst the heirloom quilts, lace and embroidery–was my original “rock box”. The one that had disappeared so many years before. Inside were my original "treasures", the materials my father brought me, the very first sets of beads and silver, coral, turquoise and seed beads. There was even a half finished necklace I had been making for a boyfriend at the time -- all of it just as I'd left it before it disappeared. The original, rudimentary materials. At the very bottom of the box, wrapped in a very soft polishing cloth was a rotary stone; mounted to this rotary were several stones, readied for polishing by my father.
It has been a ten year journey to this point. I have two full dressers and an entire entertainment center full of materials and am always collecting more. I never have and never will sketch a design –- each design comes as it will, often based around a particular bead. I’ve gone full circle from the rudimentary materials my father provided me, when he was sharing his hobby with me, through the re-discovery of the original materials. I have incorporated some of those very materials into current creations. I’ve incorporated my political beliefs into some of my designs (my two favorite causes are breast cancer research and troop support). There are people who inspire me to this day, people of courage and strength, people who inspire me to carry on when my own pain becomes almost too much to bear. They are my heroes, my mentors and my friends.
So how does this answer the questions I asked at the beginning? Take a look around, particularly at the teenagers. You suddenly see a lot of puka shell, coral, turquoise and silver -- and in my mind's eye, I see a teenager, sitting down with her daddy as he opens a plain, brown bag loaded with turquoise, coral, puka and heishe shell, tortoise shell disks ... the journey begins yet again.
This site is the culmination of many things and a substantial amount of trial and error; although fire is no longer involved, there is still a lot of improvisation when I can't find something I need and it seems as if there is none of what I need upon the planet. (Hint: mini-muffin tins and the cupcake liners for them are great bead separators/bead trays when working with many different beads at a time). Once a design is set in my mind and I've brought it out into the open, I will copy it many times into many colors -- just for the fun of it.
Ultimately, there is one thing I try to remember above all else. That is this: No talent springs out of nowhere. I truly believe my talent is a gift from God and to Him goes all praise. I’m simply the conduit. First and foremost, this site is dedicated to Him.
This site is also dedicated to the man who made sure I always had material to work with, the man who didn’t show emotions yet was somehow able to share something he enjoyed with a surly, snarky, sarcastic teenager -- my father. I miss you Daddy.
* - Trinity Book Store, 3801 E. Ft. Lowell Road, Tucson, AZ 85716-1784
(520) 326-3466
** - Jay's of Tucson, Inc., 4627 E. Speedway, Tucson, AZ 85712-4633
(520) 323-1123
It has been a ten year journey to this point. I have two full dressers and an entire entertainment center full of materials and am always collecting more. I never have and never will sketch a design –- each design comes as it will, often based around a particular bead. I’ve gone full circle from the rudimentary materials my father provided me, when he was sharing his hobby with me, through the re-discovery of the original materials. I have incorporated some of those very materials into current creations. I’ve incorporated my political beliefs into some of my designs (my two favorite causes are breast cancer research and troop support). There are people who inspire me to this day, people of courage and strength, people who inspire me to carry on when my own pain becomes almost too much to bear. They are my heroes, my mentors and my friends.
So how does this answer the questions I asked at the beginning? Take a look around, particularly at the teenagers. You suddenly see a lot of puka shell, coral, turquoise and silver -- and in my mind's eye, I see a teenager, sitting down with her daddy as he opens a plain, brown bag loaded with turquoise, coral, puka and heishe shell, tortoise shell disks ... the journey begins yet again.
This site is the culmination of many things and a substantial amount of trial and error; although fire is no longer involved, there is still a lot of improvisation when I can't find something I need and it seems as if there is none of what I need upon the planet. (Hint: mini-muffin tins and the cupcake liners for them are great bead separators/bead trays when working with many different beads at a time). Once a design is set in my mind and I've brought it out into the open, I will copy it many times into many colors -- just for the fun of it.
Ultimately, there is one thing I try to remember above all else. That is this: No talent springs out of nowhere. I truly believe my talent is a gift from God and to Him goes all praise. I’m simply the conduit. First and foremost, this site is dedicated to Him.
This site is also dedicated to the man who made sure I always had material to work with, the man who didn’t show emotions yet was somehow able to share something he enjoyed with a surly, snarky, sarcastic teenager -- my father. I miss you Daddy.
* - Trinity Book Store, 3801 E. Ft. Lowell Road, Tucson, AZ 85716-1784
(520) 326-3466
** - Jay's of Tucson, Inc., 4627 E. Speedway, Tucson, AZ 85712-4633
(520) 323-1123