Archive for August, 2013


Better late at night than never… I’m so out of practice it took me twice as long to get everything put together. You should know I started on these listings last night.

Click HERE to visit my shop or the thumbnails below for each item.

Candy Garden:



Cool Wave Shisha Sprees:



Indigo Peach Revisited:



Scream Brulee !BLING!:


So that’s everything there… I hope you like the stuff! I think I’m in the mood to make some Vintage Obsession beads… that means something simple and simply full of glitz. But it should wait until tomorrow, it’s after 1AM and I already have beads to pack up anyway. Hooray!!!

See you next time, which hopefully isn’t too far off.


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Etsy coming up in just a bit

I think grief is helped by getting on with things.

I’ll have a pretty nifty bunch of beads on Etsy in just a little bit – but be warned, I made these beads weeks, even months ago, in anticipation of summer breezes and poolside splashings. Hopefully some of you will find them to be season-less.

Here’s a sneakety-peek:

look for us on etsy in just a bit

look for us on etsy in just a bit

The bead cave is finally put back together and I’m squirming to make beads. I think it’s been over a month and that’s probably the longest I’ve gone without. And did I mention that we ended up not moving house after all? That turned out to be a good thing. Even though we got rid of a few things (nothing terribly important or irreplaceable) it was just fine because it freed up some moving around space.

Anyway, I’ll return shortly with the new stuff!

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pensive alligator says…

“Life is like a cheap hot dog. It’s full of lips and a**holes and it tastes pretty all right. Enjoy it now because you’ll pay for it later.”


Guys, I know I’ve been weird lately. Perhaps I’ve offended some of you with my off-color analogies. If I’ve made any of you uncomfortable, it was not my intent. These last couple of years have been the most trying years of my life and maybe my way of expressing myself has been more intense than usual. Waiting for the next disaster to come down the pipeline could cause a gal to be a little bit anxious. And then it went ahead and did just a couple of months ago.

This most recent bout of awful began with a dream I had in May. I dreamed my husband and I were spending a Friday or Saturday evening with my dad and his sister Joane in Norman (the small college town where Joane lives). It seems like it might have been for their birthdays, which would have been in August. We talked about eating at IHOP around midnight but Joane wasn’t feeling up to it and Dad just wanted to go home. Getting back to the city and dropping Dad off at his house must have been fairly uneventful, but we ended up driving back by his house again at about 3am. I saw Dad sitting on his porch on a wrought-iron settee covered with large reddish orange pillows. There are actually sodium lights lining his street, and there isn’t one directly in front of his house – but there was on this night.

The sallow cantaloupe light exposed him as exhausted and sad, and his positioning on this large iron settee was askew. The pillows sort of swallowed him up. He was dressed in heavy dark work clothes, indeed very warmly for an August night. He wore a matching dark baseball cap. He seemed crumpled and frail beneath his loose clothes and worst of all, he wore an eye patch over one eye. Our eyes met as we drove past and I waved tentatively, and he waved back tentatively once he saw it was me – the longer we waved to one another the more terrified the expression in his one visible eye grew. He knew he could no longer hide it from me, whatever it was.

I immediately turned back around in the car and was in his house, washing dishes, worried about whatever was in the sink. It suddenly dawned on me to go check on him in the other room. He was playing with dolls or stuffed animals and was emphasizing that the one he was holding in his right hand represented me, and he made the one that represented him in his left hand say of the other “…and I want this one to be happy.”

And that was that. His father wore an eye patch at the end of his life. I woke up with tears on my cheeks and a lump in my stomach because I knew what it all meant. But I had no idea this would be happening so soon. Stupid me, assuming I had more time with him.

grandma and grandpa moran, dad and me

grandma and grandpa moran, dad and me

Just weeks after I had that dream, Dad began to complain about back pain. By the last week or two of June, he could no longer walk. He was eventually admitted into the hospital and was given a diagnosis of stage 4 lung cancer. There were tumors along his spine and one near his very low vertebra had grown so large that it cracked it – which explained the back pain and inability to walk.

I’ve been watching my gentle, beloved father die an excruciatingly painful death. I’ve been inconsolable to the point of dysfunctional. I’ve tried to do what I thought was the right thing, sometimes I was lucky enough to get it right and other times I didn’t. It’s been an unwinnable situation for everyone involved, and there’s nothing like unwinnable + extreme grief to put anyone out of sorts.


Dad never grew into a fully responsible adult, which was both wonderful and frustrating. He was superficially irresponsible in that he wasn’t terribly interested in keeping a “real job”, but as a dad and as a source of guidance, he excelled and was naturally suited for the task. He never let his feelings get too hurt and every time he saw me or spoke to me on the phone, he told me he loved me. He always made me feel accepted and wanted – his love for me felt so pure and I knew that if I asked, he would do almost anything for me. Simply knowing that was enough because this was not a daddy’s little princess kind of relationship. The gifts and favors my father showered me with were ones of knowledge and time. Instead of buying me fancy crap, he bought me LEGOs, books, marbles and whoopee cushions. We looked at stuff under the microscope, caught toads in mayonnaise jars, hiccupped and giggled about Mad Libs until after midnight, and played catch in the living room with his balled up dirty socks (much to Grandma Moran’s chagrin.) He taught me how to ride a bicycle and occasionally surprised me with new girly bike accessories on our weekend visits.

As I grew up, Dad encouraged me to produce the best work I was capable of, and to snub convention and still manage to be successful within the parameters of the law. He asked me what I thought about things and was genuinely interested in my answers. He was inarguably a genius with oil paints on canvas. The whole family thinks that if he could have buckled down and adhered to traditional standards (such as creating a cohesive body of work that a gallery could show) he could have been wildly famous. He was also one of the best jazz drummers in Oklahoma City in his earlier days. He built fantastic furniture from wood and built tools out of wood to make his woodworking tools work more safely and efficiently. This man never spent one moment of his life idly. Even when his body wasn’t working, his brain was hard at it.

dad, me and my blue birthday cake

dad, me and my blue birthday cake

Now he’s gone, and there’s one fewer person in this world who loves me without condition or pretense. His last wish for me was for me to be happy. It’s going to be a lot more difficult without him here, but I’ll promise not to let life stomp all of the sparkle out of me.

So long, Dad. I could not have asked for a better father.


Lionel Gautier Moran, Jr.
8/8/40 – 8/24/13

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A big update is coming soon!

a self portrait (?) by my dad, oil on canvas

a self portrait (?) by my dad, oil on canvas

Meanwhile, the truth must be halfheartedly uttered from the doorjambs and toilet vents because we’re far too lazy or exhausted to climb up onto the rooftops and shout: Life sucks major hairy sweaty donkey balls covered in toffee and cream cheese icing with gooey cookie dough centers. 

If you don’t understand what I mean, you have your head up your nethers. And that’s fine, I don’t blame you one bit, it probably smells better in there. Some days I think I can chew through the tough stinky hairy sweaty in between the chewy gooey sugar crystally… but most days I’m simply appalled at the sheer amount of ick I have to muck through. Why does the hairy sweaty have to be mandatory? And why does there seem to be so much of it lately?

I think love keeps those layers more smooth and tolerable. We all have our layers. To love someone, to TRULY love someone, is to love their layers and be able to live with what you find under each one you peel back. Good, bad, ugly, smelly, batchit insane… as long as you can find chewy goodness at least once a day, love is worth loving and life is worth living. And if you can’t, it’s time to move on and find some different layers to goof around with.

I blame the internet for most of what’s wrong with the world. If only I were kidding. And I don’t think my newly acquired digital cable package is going to help improve my outlook, dagnabbit.  I wanted to go hide behind the toilet after watching one episode of Tosh.0 last night. It’s probably PMS (or what I like to call Absolute Clarity) but it probably isn’t. We can discuss what’s currently eating me at a later date.

(Sorry. It was either this, or turning all the living room furniture upside down, an old favorite of mine when I’m feeling particularly stretched out. Believe me, you’ll get the goop soon enough.)

For now, though, I have those beads I told you about last time. I want to put them on Etsy today or tomorrow. It’s what I’m going to try to do but can’t promise that because my everything is hanging by a thread right now.

And Jannn, by the way, if you’re reading this, puhleeze clear out your inbox. I was trying to email you a while back but I gave up after about 3 550 + 5.0.0 Daemons. You might think about switching over to the hottest new johnny come lately ISP for about 6 months of better service. Har, PPfftt. Seriously though, check it.

seascape by my dad, oil on canvas

seascape by my dad, oil on canvas

Love you guys, see you later today or tomorrow.

I also owe some of you an email. I’ll be on that soon. Don’t hate me if I do my Etsy stuff first, okay?

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I’ll be taking a very short hiatus from beads and blogging – or worrying about blogging, actually, since I haven’t been doing any actual blogging lately. We’re moving house and other more pressing tasks are on my immediate horizon. I’m sad to admit they aren’t all pleasant. Torturously bittersweet, maybe.

I do have some beads that I may list for sale at some point in the not too distant future, once I can find the time and space to put some Etsy listings together. Once I get my new bead cave set up I’ll be back at it, and with more zeal than ever before. I’m hoping I can get everything settled and situated by the end of October. If all goes well, there will be enough room for all of my projects and maybe some extra room to move around between them.

I know I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but thank you for bearing with my short vagueness. I will say this: love your people with all of your might and don’t take a single moment for granted.

And with that last sentiment, I’m turning the computer off for at least a week. I’ll be able to check email periodically, but I’ll definitely let you guys know when I’m back to somewhat normal.



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