Casey, Author at The STUFF Sisters

Simple

Taking my daughter to see the Statue of Libertyfor the first time in 2009.

I have been thinking a lot about freedom lately. I am struck with how it complicates our world, our lives, and our beliefs.

For the last couple of weeks, freedom has been on my mind. I volunteered to work on an event for the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) called The Art of Expression. I mean, what could be simpler for me than celebrating the right to create art? Look at what I do for a living, how I live, who I choose to have in my life…simple right? Not so much.

It – freedom, that is – kept popping up everywhere I turned. It’s like that old phenomenon that when you buy a red car all of sudden you see a million red cars on the road. I chose to work on an event about freedom, and – presto – freedom is all over my roads.

It was on Facebook when I logged on each morning, a constant feed of posts about anything and everything people wanted to voice. It was at breakfast, lunch and dinner conversations. It was at the baseball game. It was at a bar when a guy talking to me got mad and stomped off because he found out I didn’t share his political views. It was at a party with girlfriends where we talked about kids, love, life, sex and our bodies.

I spent a bunch of time thinking about people that use hatred to spread propaganda and resort to violence and killing. I was shamed to realize how often I was willing to jeopardize my own freedom in wanting my government to control and stop these people.

Freedom wasn’t letting me get much sleep.

I thought about being a woman in America in 2011. Boy howdy, that got the freedom ball rolling.

It’s everywhere – freedom, lack of freedom, struggles for freedom, and limits on freedom. Make it stop. My mind was racing, my passion was running hot, John Lennon was rockin’ my iPod, my soap box was getting a new coat of paint. I am woman, hear me roar!

And then, last night, I stoked up my first fall fire in my fire pit. I sat for hours mesmerized by the flame. I fell into a fire trance. And there was freedom, dancing around my mind again. But, somewhere in that hour and burning in those flames, the realization that freedom isn’t the least bit complicated came to me. Freedom – itself – is as simple as simple gets.

When I wake in the morning, my eyes open as simply and naturally as our bodies were designed to work. It is the steps I make after leaving my bed that complicate everything.

Freedom is designed to open simply and naturally. It’s the steps we choose to take with it that makes it so damned complicated.

Casey

Ellen G

A few days ago, I posted a blog about the weird connections my brain makes when I see something curious. (Poisonous Snakes = My Love Life). It made me giggle. But, in case you think I don’t also make happy connections upon random discoveries at rest stops, here is another quick connect from my travels this summer.

Vases of Flowers at a Rest Stop in Paducah, Kentucky = Ellen G.

Ellen is one of our amazing stuff team members. Her life plans include working for us until we (she, Sloane and I) are in need of false teeth and walkers. And our life plans include her keeping that promise.

Ellen is an avid gardener. She finds limitless joy in her garden, and she has the gardener hands to prove it. She is also a kind, warm, thoughtful and sharing woman with limitless generosity, so, if you work at stuff, on your birthday you will always find a small vase of flowers from her garden waiting for you.

I have no doubt that a person with a soul as good as Ellen’s is spending time at the Whitehaven Welcome Center, Historic Site and Rest Stop.

Casey

Glue Gun Gary & The Vickster

Yesterday, I was hanging out at Starfish Co. in Cortez, Florida, having one of my all-time favorite meals – the Shrimp Box with extra hushpuppies, an order of clams to start, and a cold Corona Light with lime. I was half-heartedly reading a Country Living magazine (damp and wrinkled from being shoved in the bottom of the beach bag all morning) when I happened upon a feature about rope decorative items. And I was struck with a great memory of my dad and his sidekick in life, “The Vickster” (my stepmom).

Yup, my dad has a knack for interiors, and he loves to use adhesives. And my stepmom is addicted to home magazines.

It was many, many years ago when my dad purchased a lake home at the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri for our family to enjoy. And I learned at that time that it is pretty common to buy vacation homes furnished.

Now, how do I put this nicely? This home was not furnished with the “Simmons Aesthetic”. There was a whole lot of brown – and not the “good” brown. But who in the world is going to march out and buy all new furnishings for a weekend lake home for use by a family of adult children, their kids, your friends, and a small kennel of dogs? Not this handy dude.

My dad took it upon himself to whip that place into shape. With family labor, he managed to paint everything he could in white, off-white and cream. He broke down and re-carpeted the joint (again off-white – not a popular choice with the family, but it did brighten the place up). After he gave a bunch of junk away (designers call this “editing”), he was ready for some decorative character.

So he went out and bought a huge amount of raw rope and his favorite adhesive for the job, and he meticulously (he does everything meticulously) wrapped and glued the rope around a large vase-like lamp that was pretty darned awful looking. No doubt with plenty of “guidance” from his trusty pardner. And I’ll be damned if it didn’t turn out great. Who knew it could have been featured in Country Living magazine?

If memory serves, I did hear him admit that it would have been cheaper to buy a new lamp, since it took a lot more rope than he initially thought. And I think I heard him mumble, “I will never do that again.” But what’s the fun in that?

I promise to get a photo of the rope lamp for y’all soon. But, in the meantime, I’m on island time.

Casey

Beware of Poisonous Snakes

I love to travel. The sheer randomness of where my mind wanders fascinates me. I saw this sign at a rest stop and thought it was funny.

I went back to the car to get my camera. And, as I was taking the shot, all I could think about was my love life.

Casey

Happy Handbag

We recently held our first ever essay contest at stuff. We thought it would be a great way to have some fun and hear stories from our customers. I believe our store is a special place. I hear about people’s lives every day. Their triumphs, sorrows and joys are entrusted to us. It has always been this way.

Many years ago, a woman started visiting the store often. At first she kept to herself. She was suffering inside – you could see and feel it – but she was always pleasant, kind and thoughtful toward us and our other customers. As time went on she shared that her daughter was in a coma. And she was buying gifts for her to open when she woke.

During each visit, we learned more about her, her daughter and her fears. But she was never negative, pitiful or selfish. She gave me a priceless gift. She reminded me that everyone has pain. That everyone is tired. That everyone has a story to share, and many of those stories are filled with fear, loss and pain.

One of our Happy Handbag essay contest winners.

Our essay contest invited people to write an essay explaining “Why I Deserve a Happy Handbag”. The responses were breathtaking. I read every essay more than once. I struggled with how to make my picks. I shared some of the stories (anonymously) with friends. I witnessed bravery in each story and a willingness to reach out to others and share some of the most difficult times of their lives. I was overwhelmed. I searched for inspiration on how to pick only two from this stack of very personal and revealing stories.

It was then that I remembered the woman whose daughter had been in a coma. I remembered her extraordinary ability to smile, laugh and be joyful while faced with such an impossible situation. She would radiate with hope. Her hope and faith was so limitless, she would leave a wave of hope and faith behind each time she left the store to return to her daughter’s side.

I looked again at the invitation and re-read the essays to find the type of triumph, happiness, courage, laughter, belief, hope, faith and humor that I watched drag a young woman from a coma so many years ago. And that is how I cast my vote.

I have always been humbled by the willingness of people to share their stories. I have found more inspiration from them than they will ever get from me. I thank everyone who took the time to write to us and I wish for all of them to find happiness. And I believe, if they each dig deep enough, they will find it at the bottom of their very own handbag.

To the winners: I was inspired by your positivity. It was quite contagious.

And, finally, am forever thankful to have been at work the day our store friend brought her daughter to our store to meet us. The memory of that day will always bring me happiness.

Casey

Motherhood

I am blessed with a beautiful daughter.

During my first month of motherhood, I had the realization that I had missed my calling. Motherhood came naturally for me. It just felt right the minute she was laid on my swollen belly. I looked at her and whispered, “It’s you and me kid.”

I was very, very, very lucky to take to motherhood so easily. Don’t get me wrong – I was sleep-deprived, questioning, reading and learning like every new mom. But for me it just felt comfortable…deep in my core. I had never felt that way before. Every other challenge in my life had always come with sweaty hands, sleepless nights and anxiety. Motherhood for me did not.

Less than a year later, my marriage incinerated and I became a single mother. And, even though I was grieving deeply at the loss of my marriage, I never missed a beat with mothering. How to parent alone was never a worry. How to live, finance our life and plan alone was a different story.

But mothering brought me peace. I almost resented my other responsibilities if they took me away from my daughter. I had to learn to find balance. You see…when you find your calling and at the same time realize you missed the boat by about ten years, all you have left is to find balance. That peace came with time and the loving support of my amazing family and friends.

As Mother’s Day quickly approaches, I find myself laughing at the idea that my child is supposed to do something for me. She is the gift. She is one that has given my life purpose, clarity, peace and wisdom.

Every time I used to toss a penny in a wishing well I would wish for “true love”. I didn’t know then that it would come in such a lovely little package.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Casey

Blue Sofa

I have been fantasizing about blue sofas lately. After this admission, you may want to tell me to “get a life”. But let’s push on….

I have this overwhelming desire to donate my sofa and replace it with a blue sofa. I feed this desire occasionally by “Googling” the words “blue sofa” to look at all my choices.

This afternoon I am trying really hard to sit still – which is not easy for me (actually damned near impossible) – because I have a pesky and pretty debilitating head cold. And everyone has said, “You need to rest.” So…I grabbed my laptop and headed to the sofa. Meanwhile, my amazingly wonderful daughter is covering every surface in our house with Playmobil (thanks to my nephew’s recent hand-me-downs) and running around in her new blue striped dress from Boden (tags still on).

And this is how my mind works: blue dress running by + my butt on the sofa = blue sofa. I hit Google with my “blue sofa” request, and I have been window shopping ever since. Here are today’s picks.


Peacock sofa.		Le Corbusier Grande Sofa in blue.		Andre’ from Room and Board.

Casey

Shell Art Burial

Shell art ranges from classic to kitsch, from spectacular to horrible. And I love it all.

I am a shell collector. And, though I have always talked about creating shell art, I just can’t quite bring myself to give over any of my collection to the permanence of grout. (No hot glue here, folks. I think sand grout is the only way to go.)

I have always said that when I die I want my ashes and my shell collection returned to the ocean, though I can’t quite see my friends and family dumping my shell art into the ocean. But wait! It isn’t such a bad idea – it would help create a small reef. (Another reason to skip the hot glue.)

That’s it! I am going to create my own shell art burial reef. Just take the structure, shove my body inside, haul it out into the ocean, and feed me to the fish.

Casey

Crossword

It’s Presidents Day. I am at home with a head cold and a barfing child, trying my best to get some work done from home. It’s actually not going too badly, all things considered.

I am also cleaning off my desk. There was this giant pile on top of my printer that was threatening to topple for the last couple of months, and I decided to explore what was actually in that pile that was important enough to keep, but that was not necessary enough to remember it was there.

I came across some stacks of photos from the last couple of years. (I am embarrassingly behind on the family photo albums.) In the middle of that stack were photos from Thanksgiving 2008. (I told you I was behind.) And in that set of photos were these fabulous photos of my mother trying to work on a crossword puzzle – a hobby she inherited from her father.

I gather that she would have gotten more done without the “help”, but she was good sport. I love my family.

Casey

Beach Girls

I am a beach lover, which would be difficult for you NOT to know if you have ever met me, read my blogs, or passed me on a highway headed south.

I have given birth to a beach girl, too.

We have an artistic sign at our home that states “Gone to the Beach”, and I have a sign in my office that says the same thing. I like to put it on my desk when I go on vacation. And my daughter and I like to hang the sign at home when we are beach bumming.

So today I got a big laugh when my daughter told me we needed to get a sign that reads, “Back from the Beach” to hang when we are home. You see, in her mind we are either “Gone to the Beach” or “Back from the Beach”. Clearly, the time spent between these trips just fills the days until we are beach bound once again.

I do love that child more every day. She is very much her mother’s daughter.

Casey