Three things more of less happened at the same time. I became Anglican, began to constantly lose my beloved black rosary and a book on prayer beads fell into my hands. Since then I have been obsessed with making my own prayer beads with their own special prayers for peace and healing, life and joy.

My body tells me when it is time for the full moon. The calendar says my body has been off by about two weeks for those special celebrations. During a celebration i take one day to see some place or go somewhere new, do something I usually don't have time for. today I get to splash about Grape Road searching for prayer beads.

I am lazy. Back in college I had hippie friends who could make the necklaces and bead strands I wanted. They'd do it for free. Now going through the stores of the mall I see those simply like beads strung up for a price that makes me wish I'd bought the one I saw a year ago a Farmer's Market... only a dollar-fifty!

At the crafts store economy and desire erase laziness and I buy my own brilliant red stone beads. These with the wooden beads of old rosaries will make the perfect prayer chain.

And now, made, the beads have a certain wonderful power. I don't even know what prayers will be attached to which sets of beads. Right now there are no real prayers of words, just a spirit of grace. Here a prayer in the setting sun, there a holiness in the distant flight of birds past my window. On this rough strang the memory of times and places, people in my life. This redness reminds me that no matter how awful the turnout, love is never wrong. The joint in the bead wiring a reminder that love like this, grace like this; rich peace, is what keeps me dreaming and telling stories and living them.