A Story 25 Years in the Making
When I set out to restring my friend's lapis beads, a gift from her grandmother Gigi, I could never have imagined that doing so would be the birth of ...
the bead remix.
Something precious
There is a particular weight to being handed something that belongs to someone else's history. A moment of pause. A question that hovers without needing to be spoken aloud: "What do I do with this trust?"
That's where this story begins.
Twenty-five years in a drawer
Well over two decades ago, a dear friend, Julie, gave me her grandmother's beads.
Lapis—a stone loved and revered across many traditions, expensive and precious.
But the beads weren't strung in a way that matched her style. She envisioned herself living and working in progressive and artistic environments. The beads didn't send any of that signal. They were strung, in her words, "for a conservative environment," for an office.
And it was with this styling pronouncement that she handed them to me.
I was confused. Speechless, even.
These were her grandmother's beads. They should stay in the family. I had never met her grandmother, didn't know her story. But there was something firm about Julie's decision that wouldn't let me push back.
And ... at the end of the day, I understood what she meant. We are both pragmatists, and we want things to be placed into the service for which they were designed.
So, rather than argue, I accepted them, and I made a silent decision. I would hold these beads for her and, when the moment was right, I would give them back.
In the meantime, I placed them in a drawer.
The
Original Beads
The Before Photo
These were the beads in their original styling.
Beautiful denim lapis with some antiqued tin beads, made to look like oxidized silver.
Though I wouldn't have agreed with jewelry that they looked conservative, they didn't have the spark and wonder that I know Julie would have wanted in something that she would choose to wear for herself.
Beads for her would need a different style altogether, but which direction to take them?
The Assignment
Ahead of Julie's birthday, I texted her an assignment.
She had two weeks to find me five to ten photos of beads—anything she could imagine herself wearing on the daily, without apology, without hesitation. I told her that Pinterest was a good place to start.
I also told her that she had to tell me "why." What did she feel particularly drawn to in the images that she chose? What was the common thread? What did she love? What called to her?
The images she sent were of trade beads, smaller, less round, more tubular. But what drew her attention was "hammered gold." Ancient. Textured. What I think of as "shipwreck" styling—something that looks like it's been through the world, been weathered and forged by time and drama and life itself. Something with a story already written into its form.
I knew what I needed to do ... I needed to change the findings. But here's the important part. Even though, Julie was drawn to hammered gold, the denim lapis couldn't be overwhelmed by the shiny yellow of the gold; I could have made this happen if the beads had been cobalt lapis. I walked around the bead store looking at gold beads and none of them worked.
So, in order to be true to both women, I went to the next best thing ... brass.
Somehow this felt like the perfect bridge between Julie's grandmother and her. Her grandmother had used accent beads that were designed to look old and weathered as well. Brass would help me bridge the distance between Julie's gold and her grandmother's love of an antiqued silver look. To further bridge the two women's styles, I added in:
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Length
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A third layer
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Asymmetrical styling (to appeal to Julie's creative side)
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Extra round brass spacer beads to unify the look
the bead
remix
The Result
"My grandmother's necklace wasn't valuable in the way you'd expect; it was the beads that had held our relationship quietly, for years.
When Deb took them into her hands, something shifted.
It wasn't just about remaking a piece of jewelry; it was about being witnessed. Knowing she held those beads — and by extension, our stories, our lives — with such care, changed how I felt about my grandmother, and about being truly seen. That's a rare kind of craftsmanship."
- Julie Navarro
What Happened Next
A few things happened that made me think differently about myself, and the process in which I had engaged Julie.
First, when I took Julie's bespoke bead restring to my beading instructor for help with the closures (I wanted to get it right, and after all, it was my first time), she made a comment that caught my attention.
"You did such a great job. This is a fantastic design. You are a really great designer."
That last word caught my attention. I needed to know more.
"No one designs things like this, things that are one of a kind. If everyone is making bracelets, people come in and learn how to make bracelets that look the same as what everyone else is making. I've been teaching for 25 years, and no one comes in and does a bespoke piece like this. It's so beautiful."
And before, I left her store, she said it again -- the designer word.
Of course, it was lovely to be complimented, but I didn't leave with an epiphany then. It wasn't until later, when I spoke to friends and would tell them how much fun I had restringing a grandmother's beads for a friend.
One by one, women kept telling me a version of, "You know, Deb, we all have beads like that, pearls, jewelry, just tucked away in a drawer. And they're just lost."
And slowly, I became convinced that these things that tie us to our previous generation should not be lost. They're being kept already, but they're not being worn and witnessed.
And the pragmatist in me won't rest until they get the chance to live the life that they were given and serve their purpose of adornment and meaning.
Commission Deb
This is a photo of me, circa 25 years ago, when I was first handed Julie's beads. Book time to meet the modern me using the link below. Let's engage in a bead remix that reconnects you with your loved one.
