Mexican Agate Ear Rings - The Only One - T.O.O.

The Only One

In this listing one handsome "T.O.O. the only one" set of Mexican Agate ear rings. Slabbed and tumble polished in the traditional Crude Company style. These special little agates feature a brilliant orbicular egg in the center of each agate. There's just something very special about owning a pair of ear rings that no one will ever have a pair of.

These little beauties come from a vintage collection from the forties. Consecutively cut and slabbed, then tumbled to a mirror polish.

Sweet, elderly lady I met last fall collected rock with her father during the thirties and forties in Mexico, New Mexico and Arizona. Its not often I am able to discover vintage and antique collections that haven't been depleted or dismantled.

Every nodule that I've cut into has been spectacular, many completely take my breathe away. Sure, I'm a rock geek.....I own that.

These beauties have been wire-wrapped in 12 carat 22 gauge gold filled wire. Completed simply with golden French ear wires. The pair measure 1 1/4" long, and hang down from the ear lobe at 1 1/2". Made asymmetrically, not intended to be
matchy-matchy but they can be switched off to wear in alternating ears.

The last image is the reverse side of the agates.

These ear rings will arrive in a handmade gift box from my ecovintagevegan shop.
Sent Priority mail.

Graduation 2011

Received my second high school graduation announcement today. Each linen enveloped stuffed to the brim with the information about their proud day and the time to celebrate their accomplishments. Each time I received another I’m faced with a deep sadness and regret for my own two….my own to two drop-outs.

Should I have pushed more? Harder? To make them stay in an institution that made them miserable? After they both reached 16 years old there wasn’t much I could do. By law they could decide themselves. With my daughter they tried to use the ruler test example to encourage her to stay in school. Here’s where you are….and here’s how much longer you have….you are almost done. With my son, there was no begging him to stay, no ruler example, just a calm direction from the principle “School isn’t for every student”.

Last year I went to the graduation of a young man who had been in my daycare since he was three years old. Anyone seated next to me would have thought I was his mother, the tears poured down my chubby cheeks like water works. My son sat next to me with his arm around my shoulders, exclaiming, “Mom, some day I will graduate from college”.  I am proud of his accomplishing a scholarship level GED at our local college last spring. But it doesn’t smooth the grief I have that I’ll never sit for either him or his sister to graduate from high school.

In my day, was there an option of dropping out? If there was I didn’t know about it. The ultimate goal for me was to graduate and get out of Dodge (Rawlins, Wyoming). Get me out of here, away, explore and discover the world. I was an average student and a flourishing art geek, attending college was a dream come true. It did take two institution and moving away from home to get my degree, but those were the best four years of learning.

I push now, too late maybe, but anguish over my daughter’s choice to not complete her GED……she needs a tutor and math tutor, one more test and she’ll have her GED from the college. She bounces from job to job, each one offering her a challenge at first, then soon she grows weary of the attitudes, laziness, and apathetic behaviors of those she works with or for. Every evening its another opportunity for discussion and direction from me to encourage her to return to school. “What is the solution to your situation?” I ask her. “What can you do to make your own life better?” I beg her. “I know Mom, I need to get back to school. But I need to work too.” And I tell her, You can do both.

There’s a depression of sorts when I receive another graduation announcement, and there’s a reservation about attending the celebration this month. My son should be in that parade of red gowns and caps walking in unison to receive a scroll of achievement. Can I attend another graduation without blubbering like a baby about my own kids never being in their own procession of accomplishments?

At nearly 23, my daughter is a woman, at 18 my son is a man, I can not tell them what to do. I must accept that I have given them the skills they need to make their own decisions and to succeed in their life. Do I miss the hoopla, the photo opportunities, the stuffing envelopes for mailing and the chance to have congrat’s from family for both of them…..sure. But for now I need to get past the notion that I am not in charge of their destiny. I have given them roots and wings, they are good people, and I am proud of them.

My Favorite Fossilized Mud - Blue Biggs Jasper

 I often wish that people could be as honest, clear and solid as the rock I work. Our past, our childhood and the path we've led interrupts our abilities to be genuine with our friends, family and co-workers. Only as I get older have I realized how many folks I've hurt, cheated and discarded because I wasn't mature enough to be honest. Thank goodness for age.

Three shadow box framed Blue Biggs Jasper slabs. Biggs a coveted porcelain type jasper originating near the Owhyee Mountain range between Idaho and Oregon. This jasper is wildly collected and loved by lapidary folks for their true "picture-like" qualities. Biggs is one of my favorite fossilized mud's.

All three slabs have been mounted to a back ground of muslin with foam core cubes. The largest slab in the middle viewing has been wire-wrapped at the corners with copper wire. All three slabs are 5/8" thickness and in perfect rock-like condition.

The center and largest slab measures 8 x 6" and the black wood frame measures 15.5 x 15.5 x 3".

The second slab and on the viewing left measures 7 x 4" and the black wood frame measures 15.5 x 12 x 3".

The last slabettes, mirror images of the other, measure 6.5 x 3.5" and the black wood frame measures 15.5 x 12 x 3".

These three Blue Biggs Jasper displayed together often provoke curious questions from visitors. Disbelief that they are not hand painted by me or someone else. Pure natural beauty at its finest.

The three framed slabs will be sent Parcel Post with insurance, wrapped, bundled and protected from the woes and force of shipping.

Additional flickr images:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/crudeco/?saved=1

Easter Sunday

Faith in Easter

Tomorrow children will be wrestling with other children and their baskets to grab up the colorful dyed eggs laying in the fresh spring grass. Maybe at a neighbor’s house or a family reunion, more likely at church, where the safety of free hunting is secure.

I remember fondly a few times that Easter was a celebration of family, dressing in our Sunday best and meeting our friends at the First Baptist Church in Rawlins, Wyoming. Though at fifteen years old, I lost my faith in Easter, in community and in church ….including God. There was doubt in my mind and my heart about the faith that had been instilled in me since grade school.

Being present at church every Sunday for bible study and congregation seemed an important part of our family unit, for me, my brother’s and my Mother. Honestly, it was for her, she seemed happiest at church. The whole spiritual God thing was the core of her belief and the philosophy of all that church offered her in part held her together.

It was tough, no difficult to understand how this God could be so perfect and yet allow such pain to be alive at my home. Very few people, then? Maybe no one knew the hell we suffered in our private home on 804 West Pine. Making it tough to praise the Lord and yet wonder how this great entity could allow my family to be broken. Praying every day for help, for companionship and for safety all through the week, and giving another dose of prayer on Sunday’s, why wasn’t God hearing me? Why did this great being allow my Mother to suffer? Where was God’s compassion for my family?

Although I eventually got dipped in the great baptismal bath later that year, at fifteen that Easter marked the day that God left my mind. There would be no Williams children or Mom at church that Easter Sunday, no baptism for Micklin and as planned, no Father to join us.

As with many nights before, and plenty to follow, my Father in a drunken state the night before and all through the early morning bashed my Mother’s face in with his fist. Her jaw was broke, her teeth were gone and her face resembled oatmeal. There were no apology’s from my Father, just the explanation that we wouldn’t be attending Easter service, nor my baptism this Sunday. I remember a strange looming stillness at the house that morning and he crying with his face down at the dining room table.

Is there a God?
Why are other families happy?
Why doesn’t anyone help my Mother?
Why does my Mother stay here?
Why does my Father always hurt my Mother?

I have no spiritual feelings for Easter, the concept and learned biblical teachings, that God sent his only son, who was he, to be born and die for our earthly sins, but to rise and join his heavenly Father in ever lasting life ……divine lasting life.

Twitter

Finally, after months of refusing to be sucked in, I've done it. I now have a twitter account, profile and a few followers. UGH the torture of it all.

Orange Teeth Smiles

Of my favorite things in this vast world are the honest sweet smiles of the children in my care.

Does someone they love greet them of the mornings with a smile and squeeze?

Did they have a a good breakfast before heading out?

Did their parent person dress them well for the days climate?

Does the teacher appreciate their little chubby face in class?

Is there crayon picture taped to the refrigerator at home?

So many moments are missed throughout the day, opportunities to reach out to a child, teen or young person and greet them with acceptance, reassurance and encouragement.

Crocheted WINDOWS - White On White - Christening Blanket

 In 2009, I added crocheted "Window" blanket to my Crude Company etsy shop. A pattern I learned form my Mother during a visit to her house in Kansas. My Mother doesn't quite remember where she learned this pattern, only that she's been making and crocheting with this pattern for 50 years. At 72 years old she not only whips out this crochet technique but she also tats "sir names" in white and cream colors then frames them in shadow box frames for close friends and family.

The enjoyment of creating crochet items comes easy for her, and crocheting also helps her rebuild strength in her arms from her first radical mastectomy and the subsequent second surgery three years later. To date my Mother has had seven operations to remove cancer form her body. She has been a pillar of life force for me and a woman who inspires me daily.

I share this pattern with my etsy customers, please do not resale the pattern or items created with this pattern online.