The Loneliness of the Bead Stringer

The Loneliness of the Bead Stringer

Oh Woe Is Me,

I am alone,

No one wants to help.

It is the day after the big order has arrived from India and now I have to begin to string the beads for sale, Yes , I know that I could bag them up, but they look better strung and hung against the wall, rather than lying flat on the counter.

So here I sit at the Kitchen Table, with what looks like an ever ending mountain of beautiful beads before me. Their different coloured peaks rising up, towards the Kitchen ceiling and beyond and I have to decide which peaks to begin with, usually picking the one with the least beads to begin with, it’s easier that way to start.

And so my journey across the Mountains of Beads begin, I turn 3 packets of these into a bowl, there seems to be a moving ocean of glass beads afloat in the bowl, swirling around avoiding my fingers as I start to pick them out. Looking down in the bowl there seems to thousands there bobbing up and down as I attempt to get started, but really there are only 300 in the bowl, but there is still another 30 bags still to go)

And so my Bead stringing begins, one after one they are strung, endlessly, each bead eating another couple of seconds of time as I continue on my lonely trek through the bead stringing expedition, then there are those, who won’t play the game, the runaway ones, the ones that escape, they bounce and roll all over the kitchen, into the Hall and out towards the front door, trying to make a break for it… There I go after them, catching some in mid bounce, other rolling to darkest corner, below the kitchen units, behind the pipes of the radiator , below the table, if there is a place that it is difficult to get to, it is there they will go to hide and there I have to go to rescue them from non use.

Onwards, I go the noise of glass bead clicking on each other as they meet, sliding down the plastic cord, nearer the roll, one after another, the even ending pile, not seeming to be getting smaller, like an infinity puzzle, it just keeps going on and then you see it the first glimpse of the bottom of the bowl, faster you work to take in the sight, that glorious sight of the bottom of the bowl.

And then suddenly, it’s empty, a barren wasteland of bowl waiting for the next 3 bags of beads.

A feeling of euphoria, washes over me, I feel like celebrating, but, No

And so it begins again.

Tipping in the next 3 bags, it resumes …. Again you begin the process, one after another, just yourself alone, humming a little song in your head or over thinking an event that happened a couple days ago . Promising yourself that this will be the last lot before, Your Dinner, Bed or some other occasion, that you are using to get away from your Bead Stringing… But you are fooling yourself , you keep on racing against the clock, pushing yourself onward like an athlete, ( I know that sounds over the top, but I’m by myself, who’s to know.)

One bead after another, watching for the slightest sight of the bottom of the bowl, but alas it‘s not to be.

The phone ring, I stop what I am doing to answer it, my momentum gone, the moment lost.

“ Hello “, I say.

.” Hi Dad, What you doing? Says the voice of one of my Children.

 “ Stringing Beads “, Says I.

“ Don’t know, Why you don’t bag them, says he

AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

So remember, the next time you buy a string of beads, the labour of love that went into it, the passion of the lonely Stringer, as he sat, late into the night, (Well 10.30), working so that you could have those beads strung. 

                      

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