Life lessons: Making a necklace

"How hard can this be?"

It all began with this necklace, three strands of quartz, jet and bone beads, a gift made by my long-lost Montreal friend Susan.

"Beading is so relaxing", the effervescent Susan said, "and to think that I–a retired investment banker–make pieces that people buy off my neck!"

When a local bead store offered a class that taught how to make a similar necklace–$100 plus materials for a Saturday of "expert instruction in a small class"– I signed on. Like Susan, I would make smart necklaces from interesting beads. I would enjoy my new hobby.

I arrived early, advised to buy materials ahead of class. Why work with cheap stuff, I thought, and bought a strand of green turquoise nuggets with nice matrix and a heap of other beads.

Women beading, better than I

Four hours later, after arduous stringing, bending and crimping in a tiny, airless studio, I had my creation, a busy mess of green turquoise chunks, ebony balls and sterling rondelles that weighed as much as a small dog.

I loathed it. Despite classmates' convivial coos, I'd never wear the monster.

When Le Duc picked me up, I confessed my three-digit mistake and asked him to drive straight to our jeweler's, where I felt like a kid presenting her Gummy Lump to indulgent, startled parents. They were kind (the colours work) and forthright (the design, not so much).

Rescue: simply strung

They'll restyle it, stringing only the turquoise to make a simple, casual piece. All other material goes to Susan.

 Dadgummit! The mistake put my head in a vise; at home, I applied two Advil, then a grande... martini.

For my investment, I learned that beaders, like knitters and sewers, need an artful eye and surgically precise technique to produce a piece that doesn't look earnestly awful. One misplaced section and the whole deal reads "occupational therapy". Or you rip it up and start again.

While design requires mental energy, fabrication is physically taxing. We did some wire-wrapping that torqued my wrists till my eyes watered. I'm a workbench wimp.

I have renewed respect for the artisans who create beautiful objects with patience and skill. They paid their dues and rose by dint of talent and effort to polished proficiency. Like musicians, they enhance our lives while making labour look like fun.

Now, I'll assess jewelry with a much keener sense of the value of workmanship.

As for the hobby angle, I'm sticking with cooking. At least we (or the cat) can usually eat the mistakes.