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12-20-2002 - 5:58 p.m.
John, James, Justin and the FCNs Once upon a time, before I became a health care professional, and in a time when the retail jewelry business wasn�t flooded with cheap crap from China, I worked in the family business, Prairie Fire, and designed jewelry. I had some talent too and actually had fans and followers. I never really liked making jewelry, but Mom often needed a hand, especially around the holidays.
One of my more successful designs was a beaded Christmas treasure necklace with various dangling charms or the �fucking Christmas necklace� as I always called it. It�s cute. It�s nauseatingly cute, but it�s about $20 bucks of material and retails for $60-120 depending on your location. People would riot for this necklace. After the first one, I hated making everyone of them and I have made 100s of them. They do not make me merry. They make me swear. The things we do for love! For money! For Mom! The day after Thanksgiving, Mom calls and tells me that a certain upscale boutique wants to know if they can order a dozen FCNs. Mom says �sure, no problem�. The necklaces at this point don�t exist, but the business could use the money. Mom says that she could make the necklaces herself but inserts a guilt trip so I agree to help her, which actually means I will be doing it. Ok, I am going to Henry Ford the FCNs and get them done in an afternoon. Just stay out of my way unless you are feeding me. I�m in a foul mood. She offers to play Christmas music on the radio to �put me in the mood.� She is referring to me as Mr Grinch. Christmas music does not put me in a holiday mood as I wire up little angels, Santas and reindeer. I listen to the lyrics and continue to bitch. There is no peace on earth. There is no winter wonderland. They may sing about snow, but no one really likes it. I�ve never been on a one-horse open sleigh and that song about Rudolph is about discrimination and bullying. The 12-days of Christmas makes me suicidal Mom offers me a turkey sandwich and Midol. I take the sandwich but continue to grumble. Than James Taylor sings �Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas� I have been listening to James Taylor since the cradle. I am even named Justin James after the man, I am told. The song is bittersweet and wistful. I soften a little I hold one of the necklaces up to the light. The red and green crystals sparkle in the afternoon light, It really is pretty. Mom is looking proud. John Lennon sings �Happy Christmas, The War is Over� My eyes mist over and my throat closes up. It�s the one damn song that can make me break down and cry. Mom gives me a hug. The necklaces are done. I am smiling
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