The STUFF Sisters

Friendships That Bloom

There has not really been one part of growing older that has been bad for me. What I have liked the most is building friendships with people older than me. These friendships bloom after time has passed, if you’re lucky.

There has not really been one part of growing older that has been bad for me. I am still waiting for the grey hair because I’ve dreamed of it for years. I firmly believe that my monthly facials will soften the deep skin lines, all of which I have earned with a life well lived.

What I have liked the most is building friendships with people older than me. People I first knew because they were parents of high school friends. Teachers I had throughout school who now school me on the really important things. These friendships bloom after time has passed, if you’re lucky.

One such woman recently regaled me with her knowledge of plants – she owned a landscaping company for years – when she caught me day dreaming at the potted cyclamen in the grocery store. After the long New Years hugs we exchanged, she asked if I was considering the plant.

Geranium in my kitchen, not a cyclamen at the store.

She is a reader of my blogs and knows that I am not particularly good with indoor plants. She has a faith in my green thumb that I do not harbor. I told her I really was mostly intrigued and in love with the color of the blooms. I think I might have mentioned that I would only kill it. “No you won’t. These plants can take a lot.”

I then took a moment to tell her about the orchid I recently received from my husband who was assured that “orchids are easy and you can’t really harm them” by the florist. Within two weeks, it was holding brown, crunchy blooms and now lives at my mother’s house.

My friend listened with her ears and then smiled with her eyes before saying, “Orchids are hard.”

Totally made my day, and she garnered another hug with that comment.

Sentimental me took her comment to mean a bit more. Later that day, I moved kitchen furniture around to allow the geraniums more southern light. They are the only plants that I bring inside…and only because of the color of their blooms. Well, that and their willingness to not give up on me and my green thumb. Sounds like a friend of mine.

p.s. I wrote previously about these amazing geraniums. Right here. I’ve also spent time thinking about plants and possible interventions. Here’s more.

You Are Our Gift at the Holidays

Our whole community came together at our fundraiser – Wings of Hope. You are our gift at the holidays. Never forget that.

When asked if she wanted gift wrap, our friend Mary Anne reached across the counter and held onto Sloane’s arm and said, “You know, my gift is sitting right outside.”

And she was.

This past weekend we had yet another celebration of the power of the human spirit over cancer. We drank punch, we munched cookies, we held customers while they cried, we emptied candy bowls of their sweetness, we laughed, and our customers shopped with smiles on their faces. It was a glorious way to start the holiday season.

Mary Anne’s daughter is our friend Susan Miller. She was here the entire weekend selling T-shirts and telling of her continued victory over cancer. Casey was with her in the sunshine and shade as they raised money from donated T-shirts. A longtime friend of STUFF, John, who has had cancer visit his family one too many times, brought us custom shirts from his business to sell. All monies for charity.

Our whole community came together at our fundraiser – Wings of Hope. We are dedicated to helping find a cure for cancer through research. The KU Cancer Center is doing heaps of that – alone and in collaboration. The fund that Susan’s family started years ago while she was suffering and triumphing is still rockin’ the research.

To our parents, who have both battled cancer, to Susan, to John, to Mary Anne, and to all of you who believe in our dream business: we thank you for believing with us that together we will find a cure for cancer.

You are our gift at the holidays. Never forget that.

This Is It

A little over a week ago, there was a post on my Facebook from friends vacationing on the other side of the world from where I was sitting. The shot was lovely – full of a glorious sunset, tanned legs & feet, and smiles you could not see.

I caught this at end end of my work day before packing up my computer and heading off for the 5:15 carpool run. It stuck with me through the arrival of talkative and sweaty cross country boys. It stayed with me through dropping off my child and picking up my husband. We had plans that night, but first I wanted to see the sunset. Just like my friends half a world away.

So we drove downtown to Quality Hill and caught the last few minutes of a Missouri/Kansas sunset. I was hell-bent to see it. Something in my day beyond the Facebook post was telling me to live now. To see the sunset now.

Something telling me that days are limited and sunsets are not just for vacation. That this is it.

p.s. The park at 8th and Jefferson is one of Kansas City’s best spots for seeing the river, the planes in and out of Municipal Airport, and great sunsets. Just go. Trust me.

Precision & Grace

It seems like every profession has a contingent of people who rally against it. Lawyers have a bad rap. Car dealers. The list goes on and on. I have even had people tell me to my face – while standing in my business – that retailers are the worst.

It seems like every profession has a contingent of people who rally against it. Lawyers have a bad rap. Car dealers. The list goes on and on.

I have even had people tell me to my face – while standing in my business – that retailers are the worst. They are “greedy bastards” just in it for the money. “No ethics.” “Stickin’ it to the little guy.”

That’s not what I do. That’s not what my sister does. And that is not what the amazing and dedicated artists we represent do. Their desire to be in their studios perfecting hand craft makes it so that all of us can enjoy affordable art in our homes and on our bodies.

That dedication and happiness was seen in our store this past Saturday, the first of four such Saturdays in “ARTober”. Rachelle Pulkilla wowed us for hours with her work – sparks flying at times! – and her spirit. She is a metalsmith and jeweler and each piece is unique.

Somewhere in the middle of her time with us, I heard little voices I recognized, and there stood our friend Kari Heybrock and her three children. They were thrilling to watch as they took in what Rachelle was doing and making. Her oldest, a seven-year-old, was asking very detailed questions. They help their mother in her studio occasionally, and this next Saturday we will be watching Kari make her magic with molten glass, two torches, precision and grace. She’s brought her studio to STUFF before, and we are ecstatic to have her back.

What blows me away is that, at every one of these events, artists we represent come out and support the other artists while they are “in studio” with us. To say the customers love it would be an understatement.

These are the weekends I live for. The ones where it all comes together … where we all come together. This is why I do what I do for a living. There is nothing greedy about it.

p.s. You can find out more about Kari, Rachelle and ARTober right here.

A Hug That Changed My Life

Yesterday I hugged a customer at the store. I am a hugger. I have always been a hugger, and I plan to stay that way. I believe hugs could save the world.

Yesterday I hugged a customer at the store. I am a hugger. I have always been a hugger, and I plan to stay that way. I believe hugs could save the world. I hug people, trees, dogs, cats, and the occasional lilac bush. I often end my notes with, “hugs….” A hug will set you free.

But yesterday this particular hug deeply changed my life forever.

A woman came to the store to shop in support of a local school. We were hosting a charity shopping day at the store. She bought a pile of gifts. She was generous with her shopping, both in what she chose for others and in splurging a bit to help the school. At one point, she handed me two handmade artist plaques and said she wasn’t sure who she would share them with, but she just knew they would love them.

When we were finishing her sale, I found myself in a conversation with her about her battle with cancer. She has stage 4 colon cancer. She has been in treatment for over two and half years. She is beautiful. If she didn’t have the tell-tale regrowth hair that often screams CANCER to the world, I would have never known she has cancer.

She spoke frankly with me. She never looked away. She was honest, direct, kind, and flawlessly open. She didn’t feel sorry for herself. She did not hide her pain or dramatize it. She was heroic.

I came around the counter and asked if I could hug her. She graciously said yes. We embraced for longer than you would normally hug a person you just met. Her hug was warm, kind, and open, just like her words.

I had to take a handful of deep breaths when she left. My life was forever changed. I believe I will remember our exchange for the rest of my life. My wish is that the memory will come to me often. I deeply hope I can grow to be as honest, giving, calm, and willing to be fully alive as this remarkable woman.

What happens next is unknown for her and for me, but isn’t that reality for all of us?

Hugs…

Here is a handful of hug-moments. Note the joy, love, and happiness being shared.

My daughter and father sneak in a hug. — My daughter and my father sneak in a hug.

Proof hugs and kisses make people happy.

My pup and daughter stop for a hug. — My pup and my daughter stop for a hug.

This is my nephew "holding hug" my giant pup on the sofa. This is one of the best hugs you kind enjoy. — This is my nephew “hug holding” my giant pup on the sofa. Another great hugging variation!

The Storm Passed

In recent months, I have been drowning in the flood of my own life. A “perfect storm” of work, parenting and volunteering put me on my knees. I had a plan. I really did.

In recent months, I have been drowning in the flood of my own life. A “perfect storm” of work, parenting and volunteering put me on my knees. I had a plan. I really did. But then those unexpected and unlikely events started to hit.

Every time I turned around, another (medical, staff, tenant, dental, roof, appliance, plumbing…) issue hit. Again, again and again. I thought this time I was going to break, thankfully I had help with the materials and equipment from http://profoam.com.

Then last week my daughter climbed into my bed after a bad dream. I was still awake, lying in the dark holding back tears of fatigue and fear. She crawled onto my stomach, her limbs falling past my knees and over my sides as she drifted back to sleep.

I looked down at her in the dark, and just like that the storm passed. Only one thing actually changed…me. My heart could finally be heard above the screaming in my mind.

I let go.

Last Thursday, when an actual storm ripped my roof open, tore siding from my house, and knocked the power out, I lit candles, put buckets out to catch the water, locked the windows, and cuddled up on the couch with my child and fell asleep in the warm glow of my home.

A home isn’t a house. My house may very well fall down around me one day, but my home will always be warm, well lit, and open to the people I love and who love me in return.

Seeing The Past

This past weekend, I traveled with my niece and her friend (and other members of my family) to an art festival in Salina, Kansas. These two young women were a laugh a minute.

This past weekend, I traveled with my niece and her friend (and other members of my family) to an art festival in Salina, Kansas. These two young women were a laugh a minute. Morning and night. Both super sharp and funny. How they can be witty at eight years old is a mystery, but they are. And they were holding their own with four adult women.

When I took this picture, I knew before I clicked the button that I was seeing the past in these two. My past. My past with my best friend. My wish for them was that, even if they weren’t to be each others best friend, they found one who loved them as much as they were loved. A friend that can keep secrets. One that knows when to laugh, when to cry, and when to sit quietly and listen.

I have mine. I met her when we were in 5th grade. We may have met in 4th, but the real fun began in 5th, and hasn’t stopped. There are secrets we will never tell, and there are stories that we do tell. We’ve spent time apart during college years, and we have lived in the same urban neighborhood for the past 20 years.

Fifth grade is more than a few years ago. Heck, it’s more like 38 years ago. Time does fly, but it has real wings when you have a best friend at your side.

Notes: I was at the Smoky Hill River Festival with the girls. Definitely worth the trip. Photo #2 was taken earlier this year at the opening of the Mosaic Project for AIDS Walk Kansas City.

Embracing Simplicity

Parades are funny things. Not just because of clowns and puppets and dogs. Not because of men in tutus and babies in top hats. Parades are funny because they bring out the best in America.

Parades are funny things. Not just because of clowns and puppets and dogs. Not because of men in tutus and babies in top hats.

Parades are funny because they bring out the best in America. The slowing down of time, the sitting still and watching the world go by, the embracing of simplicity.

Last month’s Brookside St. Pat’s parade was the 11th time we have marched as a unit for STUFF. Every year we start thinking about it the minute the calendar clicks over to the new year. And every year we don’t start working on it until March starts. Lots of time in there between the thinking and the working, which is not like us.

We’ve learned to slow down and not rush into decisions. We’ve learned to let the magic of an idea sink in and then rise to the surface. This year we simplified and let the people who walk with us – the customers, the dogs, the children – tell our story.

We are about people, not product. We are about hand-crafting, not production. For one short parade route a year, we are about the color green and candy and laughter and shouting and smiling.

It’s that simple.

Voices in My Head

I attended a charity luncheon last week, and the main speaker – a graduate of the program we were there to raise money for – spoke of her life, her troubles and her achievements.

I attended a charity luncheon last week, and the main speaker – a graduate of the program we were there to raise money for – spoke of her life, her troubles and her achievements. A clear voice she remembers from her past, a grandmother, told her when she was young that she would never amount to anything. Ever.

I was breathless. I carry voices in my head from the women in my life. One grandmother, when life was too good or edging towards bad, would tell me, “It’s a rich full life.” Another grandmother, “Let’s get this done.” I can’t imagine my life without my family standing behind me. Perched there waiting to step in with help or preparing to step back in pride.

Less than a day after the luncheon, I was sitting at a breakfast to celebrate the leaps and bounds a local university has taken in accepting and embracing people in the LGBTQIA community. At this celebration, three young people told their stories of coming out to their families and their greater world.

Much like the woman from the day before, they stood there proud of their accomplishments but wracked with the pain of the voices they carry in their heads – of family and friends who have not been accepting of their life. An institution – and members of its staff – was clearly stepping in to fill a painful void. A void that four small years of learning or a five week empowerment program can’t completely fill.

These young people stood there alone at their microphones – placed arms’ lengths away from each other – and shared openly. It took every fiber in my body to stay in my seat half an auditorium away as they each reached a crescendo in the stories that left them speechless and upset. I wanted to be near them – right behind them and much closer than an arm’s length – to remind them silently that it is a rich, full life. That the norm is not for those you trust most to leave you or let you down.

I stayed in my seat, was joyously a part of the raucous standing ovation, and left the room wondering. Wondering if I was correct in my assessment of what the norm is for family behavior.

I will never know the answer to that. You are given one life full of challenges, loss, gifts, celebrations, pain and love. I doubt normal ever dips its foot into these waters.

p.s. My week ended at an amazing fundraising party for the KC CARE Clinic. The women in these photos are many of the voices that live in my head – from just that one night. I treasure every single one of them.