The STUFF Sisters

Peace on Earth

I have been wrestling with the issue of peace for over two weeks. Quietly and to myself in the few minutes of alone time I carved out of a rich and full life. At first I was troubled that I wasn’t doing enough to help find answers for the world at large as to why we don’t have peace that lasts in places that need it so desperately. This impulse to do more was brought to me by my inability to disregard the media. That same week, I listened to an article on KCUR about children in the Middle East – I truly forget what country and hate to lump them all together – where the children were talking about the ridicule they face on their walks to school and at school for having faith beliefs different from their peers and neighbors. Then I read an article online about Rush Limbaugh’s vitriolic “feelings” about Hillary Clinton’s beauty and power as is pertains to her job as Secretary of State, and then my head exploded.

I was not at peace in my soul.

I had an epiphany several years ago when I realized – possibly for the first time – that Casey and I were the “bosses” and no one was “workin’ for the man” any more – and never had been – at stuff. This whole small business ownership thing had put us in charge. We were the parents, the bosses, the leaders. No one was going to enter our lives anymore and tell us what to do. And for one fleeting moment I was scared. I knew I had been in a co-driver’s seat for a while, but the true meaning hit me hard that day. No longer would a parent of mine walk into the room I was playing in – while arguing with a sibling – and say, “That’s enough! Clean up this mess and be nice to each other right now.” And then to have us do so.

I wish to be Pollyanna-ish for one more moment and say that that’s what I wish we had in the world right now: someone we all listened to – and were maybe a wee bit scared of – that walked onto the world stage and said, “It’s time for you all to get along and find a way to play together. You’re locked into a long term relationship with each other – and this planet! – and you must find a way to separate church from state and find peace. And I mean right now!”

Just when I think the media is around to make me crazy and cause me to think too much, I read an article in National Geographic last night and felt peace jump out at me from the whooper swan you see here.

I gazed at this photo in silence and told myself that I will be finding more time in 2011 to continue working on causes and issues involving basic human rights, civil rights and financial empowerment for women and families. I will be one of those voices that says, “I’m a peacemaker, and I am at peace.”

Sloane

Fair Weather Fan

I am a “fan of fair weather” – as opposed to being a “fair weather fan”. Being a “fan of fair weather” means I spend winter dreading getting out of the house. It means I bitch incessantly when putting on boots. It means I have to go back into the house four f-ing times to get everything I can’t seem to get the first trip to the garage, since my vision is blocked by the four tons of crap I have to wear to get from the house to the garage so my teeth won’t chatter upon opening the door to leave.

Yesterday morning’s light snow and 17 degree weather was not welcomed by me. However, my Bernese mountain dog and my daughter were both thrilled and spent an hour outside playing and waiting for me to get my act together.

Casey

I May Need an Intervention

Oh crap. I’ve turned into one of those people who can’t throw away a poinsettia plant in May when the lack of watering and general bad air in the office has ruined whatever lustre there was to the plant. When it’s down to three leaves and woody stems.

Correlation to the ponsettia issue: What you see before you is a petunia plant I finally put to rest this morning. I have great pangs in my heart throwing a blooming plant in the yard waste bag. I’ve even caught myself, in years past, saying the despised word “goodbye” to an annual plant as I shut the top of the bag. What’s up with that?

Since early this May, I passed this petunia plant – and its birdbath brethren – multiple times every day as I entered and exited the house. The joy and general spirit that “The Wave Petunia” brings to my world every year is tantamount to my general sunny disposition. It was on my way to the car yesterday that it came to me why I had trouble sending this one to the compost pile. The other plants my son and I planted with this petunia had long since been trimmed back and/or removed. But this purple wonder had given me everything it had and, like me, it was not giving in easily to the cold weather and bitter air. It was going to bloom as long and hard as it could. (The only parallel I can draw to myself is that I only started wearing socks with my shoes early this week.)

I’ve cleaned out the birdbath planter and put it away until next spring. I’ve washed all my socks and purchased tights. I’m currently embracing the holiday spirit and have welcomed the brisk and cold air as I take my walks. I’m happy.

But I miss the little touch of purple moving ever so slightly in the warm, sunny breeze.

Sloane

PS…I’ve never been a fan of poinsettias. I probably never will be, and we don’t have them in our home. They just aren’t my thing. However, I know they bring great joy. I’m at peace with that.

Taking a Walk on the Wild Side

For the past two years, we have vacationed at my father’s lake house in which we had to remodel because it was a mess and we learned DIY tips from a seasoned plumer. When he first purchased the place 20+ years ago, we came all the time – in the winter, every summer weekend, every summer holiday weekend, whenever we could.

But life changed and so did taking journeys three hours from home. I ceased to be a consultant and opened a retail store with my sister. My husband decided to become self-employed. We brought a bouncing baby boy into the world, and he grew to have weekend plans – sports, etc – that kept us from these short getaways.

And then life changed again. Last year, August yawned in front of us, and we filled it with a fantastic vacation at the lake. And then, this year, we did it again.

Many years ago, I was captured by a quote in a book I was reading about the suburbs. The author’s message was that most places are named after the things that were demolished to make the human environs. Her case in point was a subdivision in Baltimore named “Babbling Brook Estates”, where there wasn’t a water source in sight.

The little road that my father’s lake house sits on is named “Red Fox Run”, and I’ve never seen a red fox near it. I’ve seen deer, squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks, turtles, ducks, heron, fish and horseflies. And, just a few nights ago, we saw a bobcat not a mile from here on a back road. (Click here to witness our other bobcat sighting even closer to home.)

The lower side of Red Fox Run is filled with the things humans seem to need – houses, driveways, garages, docks, grills, boats – while the upper side is full of all that is green. I can barely walk the dog every day without seeing something totally new that I missed on all the previous walks. The place hums with activity and makes you feel like you can breathe a little deeper even on 90 degree days that are pushing 80% humidity.

The past two years have seen our small family of three visiting here a bit more; we’re increasing our yearly average like all good teams. We’re not here as much as in the distant past, but just enough for me to yearn for more. Not the way it was, just more. And more often.

Sloane

And Vice Versa

It’s an age-old dilemma…does art mimic nature, or does nature mimic art?

Today, while reading my July National Geographic magazine, I was unable to get past the article about the bower birds of Australia. It was mesmerizing and amazing at the same time. It struck me that these birds must share studio space with Andy Goldsworthy. My sister Casey has been on an Andy Goldsworthy binge lately, so he’s been in the forefront of my mind by professional and general sisterly osmosis.

My age-old dilemma, however, has been this: How am I going to afford to visit all the places in the world and see all the places and things that must be seen with the human eye – like bower birds in their habitat?

Blog-20100702-Goldsworthy — Here is an Andy Goldsworthy work of art.

Blog-20100702-Bowerbird — Here is a great bowerbird's piece of art.

Wow. Thank God for magazines.

Sloane

Angel Mine

At work things get broken. Some break in the store, and others break in transit. A basic fact of retail life.

This angel, which you can’t see entirely, had a wing broken on the way to stuff. She holds a bird, and the base she is standing on is simply inscribed with the word “peace”. She was cast as one piece – wings and all – in all-weather resin. She stands almost 3 feet tall.

I seldom bring broken things home from stuff. Not because I don’t enjoy the things we sell – broken or whole – but because I am not crafty and don’t salvage broken things very well. I can re-purpose things beautifully however – pitchers as vases, wind turbines as sculpture, vintage soda boxes as recycling bins – and our house is full of those playful and useful twists.

But when I found this angel in two pieces in the shipping box, I knew she was going home for a little artistic triage. One wing was broken off, and right then I knew exactly what she would look like when I was done. I knew I could take a hacksaw to the other wing and, from there, fill the holes with twigs to make her fly again. The hacksaw part was easy. It was the twig part that took six months to achieve from the date of her second amputation.

My angel and her new wings at peace in the snow.

I wasn’t happy with my initial twig findings. I went looking but never found just what I was looking for – pretty much the case when you’re hunting for something specific that you have seen only in your mind’s eye. Then, on a walk with my dog on a still chilly spring morning, I found the trimmings from pruning in the little arboretum just south of the main shelter house at Loose Park. I knew they were perfect. I was also pretty sure I would not really be able to decide right them what few small pieces I needed, so I took the whole pile. My type A personality was in full bloom while I was wrapping them in a cotton sheet and delicately shoving them into my car. The dog didn’t even blink when I made him ride in the front seat with me so as to not hurt the trimmings.

When I got home, I chose well, snipped wisely, bundled the two sides carefully, and secured them in the two holes my angel was harboring with Spanish moss. My husband has lived through a few of my artistic and crafty endeavors, and he knew that chance of this ending well was slim. But what cracked him up was that I kept a small pile of “replacement twigs” for the future.

That was over a year ago. I keep my perfect angel where I can see her in all seasons. She makes me incredibly happy.

In this picture, you can see her in all her winter glory. Enjoy.

Sloane