The STUFF Sisters
S. Sloane Simmons and Casey Simmons
Sisters and business partners sharing life's stuff....
They always made the day about loving everyone, not just your lover.
My parents taught us to love Valentine’s Day. And I do.
When my mom got flowers from Ed’s Dainty Corsages on 31st and Cherry from our dad, the three little tow-headed blondes who had climbed into the back seat for the adventure to midtown got single roses wrapped in waxy paper and tied with a curling ribbon bow.
Continue reading “Learned Behavior”
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My daughter made this tile for me. It is a lyric from a short little song my Grandmother sang to me and I now sing to my daughter. Art makes me happy because when a person chooses to hand make something to share with a specific person or with the world, the love, passion and good intent stays with that piece forever.
The energy in each piece of art I have in my home feeds my soul. Today I will – once again – be surrounded by this magic because I live with art.
Pursue good art. Pursue good stuff…
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He gave me The Look. You know The Look. He was saying to me silently, “Does everything have a story?” He knew the answer and was playing dumb just so I would respond to The Look. So I played along.
I have a great friend who knows more than a little bit about gardening and landscape design. Right after the first of the year, right after we had had very hot soup for lunch, I persuaded him to follow me to my house and give me advice on a very pressing issue. Well, it was pressing on me. Grand plans for the warmer parts of the year with no better time to contemplate them than the coldest and dreariest days of winter.
As we walked around my very small property, he asked many questions. Sprinkler head questions. “What grows here?” questions. “Who laid this?” questions. “When does this bloom?” questions. He wondered when we had done certain things. He never questioned our choices or our taste. When he spoke to me about my dogwood tree in the front yard, I answered, “A Mother’s Day gift from my son.” My favorite moment was when he asked about yet another winter-weary plant in one of our beds towards the back of our yard and I regaled him yet again with not only what the plant was but which grandparent had given it to me. And when. And why. I was brief, I hope.
He gave me The Look. You know The Look. It can take many forms, yet this one was saying to me silently, “Does everything have a story?” He knew the answer and was playing dumb just so I would respond to The Look. So I played along….
I thought of this again this morning when yet another person congratulated me on the graduation of our son from high school. The conversation rolled along, and before I knew it the question was “popped” again. This is the question that seems to escape people right after they ask where he will be attending college: “Are you going to sell the house?” It has become “The Second Question”.
It has puzzled, the fact that this has been such a frequently asked question this spring. Is it because we have only one child and his absence from our home will have us putting a sign in the yard from loneliness? Is it because we live in an older, historic, and larger home and therefore must be looking for the newer and the smaller?
My friend who gave me The Look on the coldest day this past winter already knows my answer. I’m not leaving the home I brought that bouncing baby boy to from the hospital. The memories live inside the house and outside as well. With the daylilies, a gift from my mom’s mom; the dogwood tree, a gift from my son; the surprise lilies, a gift from my mom’s dad; the bridal wreath bush, a gift from my dad’s parents. The list goes on and on.
And that’s before I regale anyone with what the days were like when each planting was made. They all live with me on the coldest and the warmest days.
Vividly.
p.s. The photo was taken this morning in my back yard. These daylilies were originally grown in the ditch near the entrance to my maternal great grandmother’s farm in Gasconade County, Missouri. They are majestic and stand almost five feet tall when they are blooming.
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In the noisy jumble of a handcraft market stands a man we can count on to take our order, make us smile, and send us on our way. One day a few weeks ago, that same man made me cry.
In the noisy jumble of a handcraft market stands a man we can count on to take our order, make us smile, and send us on our way. One day a few weeks ago, that same man made me cry. His name is Mathias.
A larger-than-usual pile of boxes was delivered that day, and that alone could have made me weep. In the pile was a smaller box. Smaller than the others. It was the second box I ripped into so that I could feel a sense of completion by getting it dealt with. However, it was the magic in the box that brought productivity to a standstill. It held a pile of lovely hand crafted pewter art pieces, a note in an envelope, and an invoice outlining that the art was a gift. Many gifts to be shared with our customers. The note was opened first, and the waterworks began.
One year – not so far back – we got to talking to Mathias about our Wings of Hope event when we saw him in New York. He is a great listener, and, when we were done telling him about the change we make with our holiday open house, he told us he wanted to give us special pocket tokens to give to our customers during the event. Mathias doesn’t talk much; hearing what people say is his strength.
Mathias wrote the note that made me cry. He had a hand in the invoice adjustment, and he probably packed the box himself. But what blew me away – what has never happened before in the 16 years of our business – is the $100 check he included from his company. No company we represent has ever sent a donation to our yearly fundraiser. Ever. When I got Casey on the phone to tell her about the heaping pile of generosity we had received, she had to pull her car over because driving and crying is bad.
Together – here at STUFF, in a studio in Rhode Island, and in a research lab at the KU Cancer Center – change is in our hands. That goodness is what made me cry.
Join us on November 10th and 11th when our holiday open house, Wings of Hope, will magically fly again.
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I was cleaning out a drawer in my desk at home recently and I came across this receipt.
On my birthday in 2009 my daughter asked if she could take me to lunch. I, of course, said yes. (Anytime a 5 year old asks you to lunch, you go.) I picked Sol Cantina, because it was a warm sunny day, they have fantastic fish tacos and you can sit outside under festive umbrellas that make you feel like you are on vacation.
It was a delightful birthday lunch. A close friend joined us and we sat talking, laughing, munching and even sipped a margarita or two.
At the end of our meal the check arrived. My daughter picked it up, checked it (very much like her mother usually does), turned to me and said, “Mom, can I borrow the credit card?”.
She presented the credit card to the waiter. And, when the check booklet arrived back, she opened it, signed the check and handed the card back to me without another word.
I will always remember this special day. It hung heavy with glimpses into the future. My daughter becoming her own woman with her own money, her own credit card, her own plans and her own vision for a day.
I am so glad I kept this little scrap of thermal paper. And, I am so glad I came across it before it was completely faded. It brought me unexpected joy. Always a welcome gift.
Note: I did tip the server on my way out.
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I am on vacation. It is day two on the beach. And my incredible little girl presented me with the gift of a lifetime. I was hanging out in the waves and she was running, playing and creating in the sand. I often find her lost in her imagination, talking with herself, and building elaborate stories. So, today I assumed she was scripting a play all her own. An hour later, she came to the water’s edge and said, “Mom, come see what I made.”
This is what she presented to me.
There is no greater gift than knowing your child is happy.
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I really, really, really want these boots. And, it is raining a bunch this week, so I think I could justify the purchase. But, I am on a very tight budget this month so I will have to put them on the April wish list instead.
Oooh…April Showers!
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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.
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.
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