REJECT NYCE PPO! A Letter of Opposition

A chance to avoid state health legislation and to cost-shift benefits is being forced on city workers. New York City, with its history of mismanagement and corruption, will now administer health care? There is a huge learning curve involved, necessitating more bureaucrats. What is the plan for risk mitigations, claim management, compliance, medication formularies, stop-loss coverage, analyzing data and trend examination? Will the government be able to handle claim denial calls? This is another Medicare Advantage debacle, a back-door attempt at serving more indignity to those who worked low-paying government jobs in return for a promise. Given the lack of any details, the chance that this will be handled well is dubious. The new plan only promises one year of no changes, and the same people who green-lighted the new system are in charge of future changes. There is little to nothing that we gain from this proposal, but so much to lose. We do not know so much of the proposed plan, and that is likely intentional. We, the rank-and-file members, were never even consulted.

For these reasons, I would much rather the city serve proof that self-funding the health benefits will actually work before they tackle something as important as the three-quarters of a million affected municipal workers health . In the meantime, perhaps offer a self-funded plan with optional enrollment, and keep the fully-insured plan alone.

My 9/11 Story

I have been living in New York City since the late 90s. From Michigan, I got a job in Long Island, but lived in Astoria, Queens. After a very brief stint in Long Island, I got hired by what was then called Smith Barney. Their offices were, and still are, although now part of Citigroup, at 250 West Street, also known as the West Side Highway, in Tribeca, Manhattan. From my office, I could see the World Trade Center. I avoided the Trade Center, and I would sometimes wonder, if they were attacked again, like they were in 1993, were they close enough to hit me? I knew they were a quarter of a mile tall, and didn't know the distance from 250 West, but I knew that they would be attacked again. The terrorists who tried in '93 said so. 

After I left Smith Barney, I moved even closer to the Trade Center when I worked for a dot-com internet consulting group. Being a start-up, they moved 3 times during my tenure of around 2 years: I forgot the location of the initial headquarters, then we moved to John Street, and finally to the Woolworth Building. All of these locations were in the Financial District, downtown Manhattan. Although I never set foot in the towers, I did go into 4 World Trade, because there was a Borders bookstore, and also 7 World Trade, when Smith Barney merged with Salomon Brothers, who had office space there. The sadly defunct Century 21 store was directly across the street from the Trade Center, and discount shopping runs in my DNA, so you know I spent many hours there. Although I lived in Astoria, the towers were my backyard. I would frequent the Tuesday farmers' market that ran just outside the towers. It was magic: Pennsylvanian Dutch selling apples and pies in the shadow of these two megaliths wearing their bonnets and long gowns covered with aprons. Such an anachronism. 

I tried to find a picture of the greenmarket at WTC
from ANY OTHER DAY. I could not. This is 5 WTC
on 9/11 with the farmers' market. They all got out.

The Woolworth Building in 
happier times

Another view of the Woolworth
Building

So, the morning of 9/11 in New York, as I'm sure you've heard, was a stunner. My boyfriend was free-lancing at Salomon Smith Barney, working at the 250 West Street building, and was in process to be hired as a full-time staff member. He was scheduled to head to the Human Resource department to sign the paperwork, at 7 World Trade. As luck would have it, the night before, he saw an interoffice envelope addressed to the Human Resources department on his boss's desk, so he just put the forms inside. This is how my boyfriend was saved. He was once an auxiliary police officer in the Bronx, and if he was closer, he might have mobilized. I was getting ready to go to my office. I was now working uptown at 7th Avenue and 57th Street. Just before I left, I heard the report of a plane hitting the Trade Center on the radio. Like most people, I assumed it was accidental. My boyfriend called at that moment, and I didn't let him speak. I told him to turn around and come back home. He did. I went out to vote: it was primary day. On the way down Astoria Boulevard, I knew that at the intersection of 21st Street, there was a clear view of the towers. When I saw it, I knew it wasn't an accident. I knew there were many, many casualties. I felt helpless and afraid. On autopilot now, I went to the voting precinct and voted. What else could I do?

When I was inside, a woman came in screaming that both towers were on fire. I said, no, I just saw them and it was just the one. Of course, when I went back up Astoria Boulevard, the truth was evident. She was right. Both towers were now struck. Panicked, I wondered if I should just call in. But, my boss was suspect of anyone calling out, and I didn't need him telling me that we worked miles from the Trade Center and there was no reason I couldn't make it. So I boarded the N train, the same train I took all the way to Church Street/Fulton Street when I used to work in the Financial Center. The train seemed to be fine, until we got to 36th Avenue, where it paused for what seemed like eternity. Mind you, the N train in Astoria is elevated, and we all could see the burning towers. I thought to myself, this is your sign to get off and go back, so I stood to exit, and at that moment, the doors chimed and closed. I rode it to 57th and 7th, with my final look at the standing towers at Queensboro Plaza. 

In some ways, it was good that I made it to work, because cell phones were not working, so I couldn't contact anyone since I left my apartment. I got ahold of my mother and explained to her that I was not close. Then...

It was my co-worker who told me what I had feared for so many years, but I was still shocked when she said it. Absolute disbelief. One of the towers collapsed. We all left together. Now, we needed to know where to go. The subway was no longer running, and my boss lived on the east side of Manhattan at 97th Street. He told us to come to his place. We walked through the park, and I remember hearing planes and being again panicked. It was most likely fighter jets, which became common place after this. We saw long lines at pay phones and ATMs, and all along the way, people were listening to radio reports in large groups. When we made it to his apartment, we could see the people crossing the Triboro Bridge on foot. We also finally saw what everyone else in the world had already seen: the images of the planes hitting and the towers collapsing. I felt sick.

Eventually, my boyfriend, who, believe it or not, drove to Tribeca daily, picked me and anyone else who lived in Queens up. We drove everyone home and were back to Astoria by nightfall. We saw on tv that there were bombs going off someplace in the Middle East, and we decided we didn't feel safe in the city. We went to his parents' home in northern Westchester, crossing the Whitestone Bridge where we saw the smoldering remains. His parents had cats, to which I am allergic, despite having a cat at the time myself. I couldn't breathe, and I went to the ER for a nebulizer. I still get calls from agencies representing 9/11 survivors with lung problems as a result. 

The next day I woke up and immediately hoped it was all a bad dream. Alas, it wasn't. We headed back to Queens, resolved to not let the terrorists win. In the weeks that followed, my boyfriend would patronize businesses downtown, smelling the horrible stench of death, sometimes ordering an entire ham from a deli, to keep those people afloat financially. Everyone did what they could.

The thing that stays with me about that day is my paralysis. I didn't know what to do. But, some people knew exactly what to do: the firefighters. When most of us stood around helpless, they bounded into action and ran towards the danger. 

Two years later, almost to the day, I stood in a classroom in Queens on the first day of school, again not really knowing what to do. I knew the parents and the kids looked to me like I knew what I was doing, but I didn't. I had joined the Teaching Fellows, and was in front of a 7th grade homeroom, teaching them math and technology. This was how I gave back to the city that, like a family member, I muttered bad things about, but truly loved. My new coworker, a 5th grade teacher named Diane Fairben, who taught my students on 9/11, had a view of the towers from her classroom and knew that her son was down there. She watched in horror with these kids, not on a television, but from a window. Her only child, an EMT worker, died that day. His name was Keith.

To him, and all the other heroes of that day, thank you will never be enough. I am only now, 24+ years later, committing my story to the public. A friend from the Midwest who worked for Aon visited a few weeks afterward and wanted to visit the site, so I went on a cold and rainy day to see the wreckage. I ran a 5k to commemorate a firefighter and passed the pile. Aside from those two occasions, I have not been back to the site. I cannot imagine the pain and suffering of so many parents, husbands and wives, and children of the victims. I feel for them and for all who suffer, whether from war or natural disaster, or plain poverty and bad situations. I hope that my service as a teacher to disadvantaged students made a difference. I think it did. Many of my students went on to success. I played a part in that.

We need to realize, as Americans, that we are blessed. We have a good life. We have our ups and downs, but overall, we are privileged to live in a great society. I have been blessed. Thank you for listening to a traumatic event from my perspective, and know that I count myself as fortunate. Do what you can to help. 

I'll leave you with this: when I grew up, there were very few children's programs. Saturday morning cartoons, Sunday night Disney movies, and PBS were about it. Once a year, the major stations would play "The Sound of Music", "Heidi" and "The Wizard of Oz. The programs on PBS were "Sesame Street", "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood", "The Electric Company" and "Zoom". At a certain point, I knew I was too old for that stuff, but, like a guilty pleasure, I continued to watch. If my schoolmates knew I was still watching Mr. Rogers, I would be the laughing stock of the 5th grade. But he was kind. He was teaching us what we were learning in Catechism: love your brother. And, like a modern prophet, he said, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." This is what Jesus was trying to say, what Allah was trying to say, what Buddha and all the prophets were teaching. God doesn't care if you eat meat on Friday or pork or cows. God doesn't want us kneeling and then standing in a particular direction. That's missing the point. God wants us to treat each other as you'd like to be treated; it's that simple. If 9/11 taught me anything, it's that there are good people in the world. More good people than misguided people. Let's all try harder to be those good people.

A Lifetime of Good-Byes

I have often wondered what would have happened if my family remained in Rhode Island when I turned 11, instead of moving to Cleveland. I imagine our happy family staying so, surrounded by my friends and family. I moved away from the Midwest as soon as I was able, and I have spent the rest of my life saying good-byes. Hard to not blame Cleveland for that.

I have stayed in New York for two reasons. One, I can't go while my divorce goes on and on. And, two, and most importantly, because it is home for my daughter. Oh, I guess three reasons: I hate moving. And I hate good-byes. Okay, four reasons... 

I said my farewells to my mother for the last time over 3 years ago now. I witnessed her final breath, and it was a privilege and honor to have known and loved her. I wish I had told and shown her this love more strongly when I had the chance. 

Me and my beautiful mom. I miss you, Jean.

It is now time for another: Tootie Pie. My heart aches to think of my life without her, although it is natural and to be expected. I love her ferociously and have structured my world around her. Now, what? 

Of course, I am happy that she is starting her own adventure, but I can be proud and sad at the same time, it seems. Motherhood is a complicated emotion, that's for sure.

Tootie Pie, you are and will always remain my greatest achievement. I am certain that you know this. I hope you see yourself with the love that I do. I think you do, but don't you ever let anyone make you doubt that you are capable, strong, self-reliant, kind, smart, beautiful and empathetic. Don't make the same mistakes that I did of letting your kindness blind you to self-absorbed others. Always put yourself first. Remember that you are my whole world, and I live and die for you. We will always share the same sky; I am always with you. This is not good-bye, but see-you-later.

I love you so dearly that it hurts, and I am excited for what the future holds for you. Whatever it is, you will kill it, girlie! As my Gramps said, "Go out and GET IT!" I know you will. Rock on...

Peace

Identifying My Native Land and My Tootie Pie

I saw the paintings, and they called to me. Once, I was passing right by it, and from the corner of my eye, I knew. It was Tootie Pie. It is a masterpiece.

I bought it! But, of course. It captures HER, in all her glory! Kiliko, her classmate, is the artist.

Then, again, although earlier, I spotted what I knew was New England. The painting, below, is of Schoodic, Maine.  

I have not been to Schoodic (is there a more Maine sounding name?), but something about the coloration of the rocks and the light told me, this is home. I was born outside of Boston, and call Rhode Island home. The artist is Marsden Hartley.

I have always been envious of visual artists. I used to use the program guides from the Ice Capades to draw Dorothy Hamill, and the result could be posted on badfanart.com. Once, somehow, I was able to capture the likeness of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but this was accidental. Both of these works are (fortunately) lost to time. The ability of these artists to portray such specificity is amazing. 

It was certainly the pink sequins that
inspired me to imitate, but crayons and
magic markers fail to convey their sheen.
Plus, her arms looked mutant on my
version. I did her dirty.

My Irish Initial

I have been obsessed with Medieval art since I knew there was such a thing. It may be the gold halos, it may be the slightly off-kilter proportions of the people, but it has always attracted me. It is funny, that my name, Kelleher, is so similar to Kells, as in the Book of Kells. Well, interestingly, the letter K is not native to Ireland. My name is an Anglicized version of the Celtic (pronounced Kell-tic) Ó Céileachair. And, no, there is not an apostrophe, but an acute accent. It means descendent of Céileachair. A céilí is a social gathering, but Céileachair means lover of a social gathering. So, somewhere in my ancestry, someone loved a party.

Now, technically, the Book of Kells is not Medieval, but Dark Ages, but I feel the imagery is in the same vein. It is also a misnomer, especially in Ireland, to call it the Dark Ages, because, once the Visigoths conquered the Roman Empire, neither one touched this distant western corner of Europe, and the arts flourished in Ireland during this time. It is ironic that an illuminated manuscript came from the Dark Ages, innit? I saw this when in Dublin, and even though I was only allowed to view one page, like all visitors, it was so detailed that I could have stared at it forever. Since I first laid eyes on it, in 1988 and again in 1995, Trinity College in Dublin has since scanned the pages. Many of the pages feature intricate Celtic designs incorporating knotwork and animals, and even images of the big names of the Bible, which is what the Book of Kells is. I wanted to find my initials, but sadly, there was no such thing as the letter K in circa 800 Ireland. So, my first initial will have to suffice, and, boy, does it! Just look at it:

So, what you are looking at is the first word, in Latin, of the Book of Matthew, "Liber". The L is curved, I cut off the bottom of the letter I, a large "B", and within the B, the ER (the image is large, so click on it to see all five letters). The first book of Matthew is "The Book of Generations", or "Liber generationis". Funnily enough, when I was younger, I sat down to read the New Testament, and read page after page of this first book. I gave up who knows how many generations into it and never returned to it. I expected more. I am not religious, but I do consider myself Christian, as in, aiming to be like Christ. But, c'mon, Matthew! Try to hook your audience, man.

But enough about the story; the beauty and intricacies of this single word is just breath-taking. Scholars say that Matthew was depicted with wings, and you can see that the faceless person in the left-most side clearly has beautiful gold tipped wings. Another two blokes here are both clutching books, which were cherished. Most of the animals look like snakes, but didn't St. Patrick both bring Christianity to Ireland AND drive out the snakes? But, they're perhaps not snakes. Are these dogs, specifically hounds or Great Danes? At first glance, I thought frogs, but frogs don't have tails, and these creatures do.

 

And this. I still say they're snakes, but the creatures end with either bird claws or fish tails for the purple bodies, or with a sort of lion's tail in the case of the yellow animals. No matter what they are, they are mesmerizing:

A close up of the ends of the tails:

Absolutely certain this
is a lion's tail

Fish tail?

But, wait, these are lions! Argh!

This is one page, one WORD for goodness sake, of a masterpiece. Somehow, they turned the dry genealogy of Jesus into an absolute, gobsmacking chef d'oeuvre, those unknown Irish monks did. Also, these monk-authors had a sense of fantasy and humor. Maybe these are snakes, but they've given them different animals' tails. It is a work of whimsy. I'm not certain Irish monks circa 800 had ever seen a lion, so there is definitely artistic license being taken. I challenge you to find your initial in this treasure and do your own deep dive into it. Or, pick an animal, and search it within the Book of Kells. No matter where you end up, you will be the richer for it.

Another drawing of Matthew, this time
with a dead eye

Since the drawing to the left is showing the man
with the wrong hand holding the book, apparently
to avoid the same mistake, deformed hand hidden
on right

No discussion of the Book of Kells without
a mention of a man who is playing his
harp snake with his two left hands

Another sensational L! What will you find?

Partial Unveiling Fish Chandelier

Well, it's missing a bulb and I still need to string 4 1/2 fish strands, but it looks good. Because it has 6 bulbs, it is not casting fish shadows, alas. 

It's custom and bespoke and delicate. No two fish are the same, and there are non-fish surprises such as a wave bead that ties the color scheme together and a glass bubble. There is a massive deep green fish. They all sparkle with Aurora Borealis (it's a bead thing). I wanted to make a blue whale gathering up the fish into a readily edible mass like I witnessed in Juneau, but never did. I don't have the right colors any longer and I like it without predators. 

I put the longer strands in the middle, the medium ones in between and the shorter ones along the outside for a graduated appearance that mimics the bulb stems. I want to learn how to make a circle with beads to create one octopus, but so far all I managed is one transparent star fish. This is the perfect task to beat the heat and humidity. A bit more fish making and I'll need another project. Alas, all of our ceilings are covered and I need to move onto another medium but light fixtures are my favorite. Oh, and after I finish with the fish, I need to strand my plastic flowers because this chandelier is CONVERTIBLE! The flowers should cover the space better than the fish because they are larger. 

Rhode Island

Hey, fun-loving New Englanders. Here's a ride that you
alone power. None of that new-fangled electricity here, nosiree.
Work up a sweat to try to get this giant metal cage
ALL THE WAY AROUND! Maybe even induce
a heart attack, if you're lucky.

Candy colored Lincoln Park. I have no photos, but the pictures live strong in my mind of the glorious tack that was a 1970s family style New England amusement park. Mom would pack a lunch that I would dance through with anticipation in the parking lot. I was tall enough that my father took me on the Comet coaster and it's not an experience I'll soon forget: if not for my father's karate chop to my waist on that first hill, I was falling forward onto the tracks. Clack, clack, clack! Good times. My sister would invariably get sick on fried clams. Many rides I wouldn't consider tackling because I was certain my parents wouldn't go for it, but those cages that could, in theory, swing 360 degrees sure looked dangerous. I always felt bad for the people in the Monster ride ("Monster Ride") who would emerge on the second floor. The humans pinned against the circle ("The Round Up") had nope written all over it.

CHiPs for the tykes

Basically the same ride, but
not motorcycles, storks

Who could focus on sandwiches

when all this awaited?

I couldn't understand my mother's
aversion to this. I think I know
now. Back problems, anyone?

But what I did ride I'll always remember. Storks, motorcycles, boats, cars with horns and steering wheels that did nothing, some sort of garish barrel, rocket ships, cars, and the flimsiest ferris wheel this side of a carnie. I got into one of those bucket seated multi-armed deals ("The Scrambler") with my little sisters and misjudged the centipedal force to crush my baby sis. No one cared about safety or intestinal health back then. No padding on "The Whip". Very few seatbelts - just a bar to grip. No one seemed to have planned anything besides my mother's lunch: we'd see families strapped with massive plushies that would take the entire backseat on the ride home. Ugly, cheap, HUGE eyesores that they already regretted winning for $100 in today's equivalent. 

 

Burlap in use

I know this reveals my age, but times were different. By today's standard, I'm amazed that Lincoln Park didn't have a class action lawsuit daily. Nothing preventing the kiddos from bailing out of the boat ride into the brown water. Most rides just encouraged you to hold on as their risk-avoidance mechanism. We "rode" the big slide by climbing stairs and, get this, using half of a burlap bag as protection from the searing heat and friction burns. It is a wonder as many of us survived to adulthood, truth be told. Far scarier than "The Monster" ride, was a total lack of safety. But, it was fun.

You couldn't say you weren't
warned

Clinging to life

That "safety belt" I'm
quite sure does NOTHING

This is incredibly girly, but many of those arcade games had dolls made out of nylon stockings and outfitted like Mae West in a riot of pastels and pouf. I'd dream of these visions of femininity all night as I could still feel my body sliding down "the big slide". 

Yes, this is what a 9-year old girl dreams of in 1977.
She was the epitome of femininity in my eyes.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. I have lost touch with that young, wild girl who was brimming with excitement. The world seemed so magical. It was magical.

clams!

Clams, 

clams,

You certainly had options to eat
a few clams

Cigs were encouraged. Leisure
suit optional.

My father drove me out of Rhode Island in an Oldmobile Cutlass Supreme in 1979. I just drove my own self out of Rhode Island and I couldn't believe I'd do the same horrible thing to myself. It is magic. Every corner has the cutest pre-Revolutionary homes with their diamond lead glass windows. I found the homes in Providence I remember thinking even back then, special. I visited Federal Hill finally and felt the presence of Guy Alba cutting hair until close to 100 years old. I grew up in a magical place and it's still breath-taking. Rhode Island gives you a sense of discovery. Maybe it's because I didn't actually have an itinerary and my co-pilot was Tootie Pie, but I am counting the days until Rhode Island is mine again.

Full, Fuller, Fuller

 

The fish population growth

I feel confident I will get the chandelier up. I vacillate between this optimism, unfounded, and the pits of depression about it. On the plus side, I have 26 of the 42 strands, or 104 of the 168 fish, completed now and thankfully it's starting to look like a collection of fish and not a sad middle school dance with infusible clumps of friends. I am hoping we may get fish shadows once installed. So, a mere 16 strands to go, or just 64 more fish to create! Piece of cake.

As for my mood, I may have inadvertently gone off my meds again. It is too easy in this day and age to fall off the depression radar and not get your pills. Far too simple. And, the best part is, you may or may not be aware of this fact, because of plans not covering certain prescriptions or quantities or other arcane reasons to prevent me from my meds, and using substitute, off-brand names that you're not at all familiar with. Am I taking an old prescription, and my current one is not covered? Well, that's for my depressed ass to get on top of for the umpteenth time. Chasing down meds is a full-time job.

Speaking of full-time jobs, I need one. Another indignity besides the medical system is the job search. Impersonal, sure, it's business, but there should be the beginnings of a relationship and it isn't there any more. We're in a race to the bottom and it scares me. 

Happy fish! Just keep swimming.

Half Complete Fish Shoal and Dining Room Disaster

My fish shoal is 1/3 complete. I made 16 strands of four, out of a total of 42. This creates low fullness on the 6 inch diameter ring I am staging the fish strands on. I am doing this diligently to avoid hanging the chandelier. I have cleaned it. I have the bulbs. I need to ask for help, and I have no problem asking. The problem is no one wants to lend a hand. 

Sixteen strands of 4 fish. Looks sparse
and still tangles.

It's okay. I have been known to weed my friends' driveways and sweep up confetti and other thankless jobs because later, my friends would hold the ladder as I get another plastic bag out of my tree or loosen that screw I can't budge. Whatever. I'll do it alone. It is cemented to the ceiling. Fine. I am trying to remove it and I want to cry, and this will make it that much more glorious when I finally achieve it, I must say so to myself to keep from doing myself in. 

It still tangles. The fish are disappointingly tiny. They hardly sparkle. Many fish are non-symmetrical and will always seem to be swimming in circles. I am not in a great mood.

The old fixture is down - cue religious music. It required the use of a spatula. The new chandelier is HEAVY and I need help putting it up. There it is. That is why it stayed on my floor and became covered in dust. The dream of a new chandelier. I have not been getting what I want lately. I think it's part of the aging process. People flock to you when you're young and beautiful. Become a bit janky around the edges and suddenly, you lose all appeal. It is men and their frustrating lack of ability to see women as people. They did it then and they're doing it now. What can I do but persevere?

I am past the halfway point: 25 strands out of 42 total. They're so small. I liked the overlap that the inspiration fixture had and the basis in art also had. Here they are for reference:

In comparison, my fish are sparse and overfished to the point of colony collapse. I still have the flowers to fall back on. Oh, maybe the layering of the fixture will give the illusion of fullness. I am noticing how narrow the inspiration fixture is compared to mine and the fish in the inspo are about a third of the width. My fish are minnows and not worth catching!

Fish Work - Going For It

A good view of my lighting design. 
There should be 48 fish here, but 
the bubble takes spot #48

I will have a convertible chandelier. It will feature plastic flowers some days and beaded fish others. I am putting off more urgent matters and it doesn't matter. I am making my own world and I only have myself to consult with. 

What a nightmare! Making the fish is easy and fun. Hanging these MFs is a whole 'nother thing. Keeping them from becoming a tangled disaster is proving almost impossible. So here is why we seldom see such things as dangling chandeliers. I've made some 50 of them and strung them onto jump rings and dangled them and they're all in a rat's nest right now. Frustrating.

I know that I write this to no one. No one listens anymore. I pay my therapist to listen and I can see the reflection off her glasses as she surfs the web during our sessions. Tootie Pie, forget it. People's attention spans can shrink all they want, as long as they can greet me in the store and make eye contact at the register. I guess that is too much to ask.

All this talk and no where to direct it. Back to the fish!

I found a cord by Kreinik which is metallic, meaning it holds its shape better than string, but isn't as easily caught like the wire. Fiddling with the fishing line was way tedious. The cord is the solution and it's iridescent! So it's back to making the fish, which is soothing and I'm becoming an expert. The key is to keep the loops from forming kinks, so keep your wire in a U-loop and not a loop-dee-loop. The cord is #12 in Crystalline. I am looking for my blue ball beads to look like bubbles. I think it will be adorable if I ever put up the new fixture and finish the other 200 fish to hang.

Still stringing the next group of 4 
strings of 4 fish, so only 32 pictured
here. I need to not add the strands
as I go because BALANCE

Obviously the fuller version looks better, but the fishes' tails are catching even this sparsely populated. It kind of makes you appreciate how they either don't collide IRL or they are so slimy they simply slide off each other. 

Chandelier/Mobile Creative Direction

Fishy

I suppose I could have a convertible chandelier: that's the beauty of the hook idea! It's about time I put up the kitchen chandelier and I can develop the mobile portion later. I may have found two great creative directions. I don't want to make hundreds of tiny beaded fish only to discover that it doesn't quite look right. So a quick mock-up was in order and I think it may work. The chandelier is just over 20 inches in diameter, and the fishy is 1 inch. There are 6, 14 and 22 concentric sets of rings, or 42 strands. If each ring has 4 fish, that would be 168 fish, and if it has 6 fish, that would be 252 fish. That is doable.

Fishy x252 (but here only 52 of them)

Here is a mock-up of just the outer most row half completed. It already looks like it will appear full. We don't want a constant reminder of overfishing over our kitchen table! This project is on tap for tomorrow. I am putting off the switch because I'm not 100% sure that the electrical box will hold this heavy fixture. But, I know that the six arms will put out much more light than the current 120V inside a plastic coated fabric shade. 

So I must talk myself off the edge, but beads are so sparkly! And by now I've made 6 whole fish. They're mostly blue. I could justify this by saying that I am using up the beads that I have on hand, but ain't no way I have 252 fish worth of beads, who am I kidding? And I have bubble beads, but maybe only 5 or 6. Fun!

Ran out of black flower sequins so 
resorted to some sort of flanged deal
for one fish.

I kind of like the look of the ridged white crystal on the one and only green fish. To supplement my used up supply of eye sequins, I have a bunch of clear ones on order. And I have one more tube of light blue beads before I can justify purchasing more, but that day will come! I heard there are two separate hobbies: beading and collecting beads. They both sound doable!

And becoming a small
school

Now 14 fish start to
cluster

As I work on the fish and work through my bead stash, I am working out how they will be attached. I will most likely attach a jump ring and hang from clear fishing line. Only the hook will be in their backs, not their plump lips. Did you notice their luscious lips?