The STUFF Sisters

We Went North for Spring Break

The final spot on the map, just a few months before he would be college bound. Sounded like a spring break trip made in heaven…by an only child with doting parents.

Dakota had a dream. A wish, really. A desire to visit all 50 states “before I go to college.”

Those last words were spoken to us, his parents, when he was maybe five years old. To him, and to us, that deadline seemed forever away.

He has always loved maps. Even as a small child, he would hold them while strapped into his car seat and look them over. Occasionally the map was indeed upside down, but that only made the flash on my camera react faster.

We thought he might not continue with this wish. I mean, really, most children that age will tell you they want to be policemen and firefighters and veterinarians when they grow up. Few of them follow through on those adamantly delivered statements. Things change. They change.

But not our son. This wish to visit all the United States stayed with him. Our driving trips to Florida became missions to see Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Georgia “on our way.”

Our son was insistent from the beginning that you could not count a state as “finished” just by driving through it. You had to do something real or see something real – a Confederate cemetery, the Tuskegee Airmen Museum, a Usonian town – and then you could chalk it up as completed.

So, state number fifty presented itself to us this year. North Dakota. The final spot on the map just a few months before he would be college bound. Sounded like a spring break trip made in heaven…by an only child with doting parents.

We loaded the car – with only two days provided for this journey to and fro – with pillows, water bottles, cameras, a mom, a dad, a kid, sweets, and a dear friend of mine. My friend and I met in junior high – not middle school! – and she has a desire to visit all the states as well. (North Dakota was #34 for her.) She shares a deep love of travel with Dakota, and they adore each other on multiple levels.

It was short, sweet and delightful. Too much food, too much driving, too much cold. But never enough friendship, laughter and smiles.

There can never be enough of those last three.

Note #1: All photos were taken in one day in two states. Many were in North Dakota and a few in that other Dakota.

Note #2: In an effort at full disclosure, state number forty-nine was Delaware and was mistakenly overlooked last year during the “East Coast Mop-Up Tour” with his grandfather. Dakota also visited Delware during this spring break, with his friend, Ryoko. Every member of our family has seen to it that Dakota had help – financially and transportation-wise – reaching this amazing goal. To my mom, her partner, my sister, my dad, my step-mom, and everyone else, I say thank you for making this amazing dream come true. Wow. What a lucky kid.

Note #3: The Grand Forks Herald – and the amazing Marilyn Hagerty – saw the magic in this trip. Our lunch with her was the the trip’s focus, the thing we “did” in that state so it could be checked off and counted as complete. She left us wanting to spend even more time with her. Read her words in the Herald here.

You Never Know

I have learned in the past year to not let ideas – and therefore chances – for getaways get by me. Life is looking shorter and shorter most days.

I left town for twenty-nine hours over the weekend with a friend. A road trip. You never know how much you need to leave town until you are in the car and rolling down the highway.

I was past ready to get out of town and away from some of my responsibilities. My traveling companion is pretty darn fantastic at pre-planning a road trip. Dinner reservations for the first night? Done. Snacks for the car? Done. Food and drink packed for late night cocktails and breakfast? Done.

I was the slacker as such. Well, I drove. That counts. There was gas in the car, a fresh oil change, and a music mix available with the punch of three buttons. Not as impressive as the rare mini bananas my friend provided. “Show off,” I said, as I bit into my first.

Art was what got us out of town. A desire to see a show that was closing at a museum in not so many days. It was the impetus we needed to spend much needed time away together.

I have learned in the past year to not let ideas – and therefore chances – for getaways get by me. Life is looking shorter and shorter most days. I am not known for my ability to relax, but I am willing to finally learn. Time away with friends has proved to be tonic for me and a great education in kicking back. Earlier this fall, I headed an hour south with two friends for a night of glamping – an incredible twenty-four hours away from our families and our to-do lists that felt like days, not just one day.

What was spoken one night well over a month ago while sitting in bar chairs – “Let’s go together and see that show!” – turned into reality because we made it so. My friend and I are both owners of small businesses, and the needs of those businesses can overwhelm and overstep. So, we danced right around them and carved out the time.

On the drive home, we kind of planned the next trip. A location was mentioned, a desire to go was announced, and we had just proved to ourselves that we travel well together. Quite well, actually.

I’ll be packed and ready.

p.s. All images were taken by me, and most are only small parts of some of my favorite pieces at the State of the Art exhibit that closes at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas, on Monday, January 19th. A few are images of pieces in their permanent collection. Again, close-ups of my favorite parts.

A Day Dream Made of Glass

I was shelling on a beach yesterday. I kept finding bits of plastic – a lid, part of a pail, a grocery sack – and it struck me, what would happen

I was shelling on a beach yesterday. I kept finding bits of plastic – a lid, part of a pail, a grocery sack – and it struck me, what would happen if manufacturers woke up one day and stopped making plastic items? Just simply stopped.

I am pretty sure that the world would not come to its demise. Actually, it may even slow our demise. Although the reports I read tell a grim tale of how it is too late.

I like my food, drinks and such in glass. It seems more civilized somehow. But, I am bit old fashioned.

It was a passing day dream. I kept walking in the waves picking up gifts of nature that I collect, take home and sort into glass jars.

PS. Any item needed in the medical world made from plastic makes sense. But, prescription bottles could be glass.

PPS. I have stated very clearly that when I die my shell collection should be returned to Mother Ocean (after my daughter chooses what to keep of course).

To Each Their Own

I remember the day my grandmother asked me to take her to New York City. By the end of our second abbreviated conversation that day, she all but said she wanted me and my husband to join her in “the biggest city I’ll ever set foot in.”

I’m not a fool. We went to New York.

Towards the middle of my grandmother’s second battle with breast cancer, she realized she was never going to see Europe. My grandfather had recently died, she was weakened by treatments, but her urge to travel kicked in again on a morning in September. She had, for all my life, always been a woman in constant and focused motion.

I remember the day she asked me to take her to New York City. She called me and immediately upon my answering started in. “What does a room actually cost at the Waldorf-Astoria?” This query had to have been founded from my sister Casey and me telling her about our discounted adventures during a market we had attended a month before at the hotel she was asking about.

I didn’t really know where she was heading with this line of questioning, I figured she might just be nosy. But whenever she started with a question and not a “hello”, I knew she had been chewing on an idea for hours or days. I was intrigued and willing to play along. I didn’t really know what the room rate was, but I jumped online after hanging up and found out. By the end of our second abbreviated conversation that day, she all but said she wanted me and my husband to join her in “the biggest city I’ll ever set foot in.”

I’m not a fool. We went to New York.

We ended up sharing a room – her in one double bed and us in another. I think she wanted us close – and, if I remember correctly, the room rate was steep. She never intended on staying in any other hotel. Without ever having been to New York, the Waldorf was “her New York”. The hotel of queens and presidents and movie stars. Fancy balls, galas, and weddings. And her dreams.

I let her choose our agenda, but, seeing my once-vibrant grandmother lessened by disease, I knew we would need to hit the highlights and see the breadth and width of the city in ways that impacted the body softly. Looking back, the only thing we didn’t get done was a subway ride. Taxi rides, tour boats to Staten Island and around Lady Liberty, top-level seats on a double-decker tourist bus, three Broadway shows, a hot dog from a street vendor, and one special dinner after a show near Times Square. We accomplished a great deal. We went in early October, and the weather was delightful. Blue sky days and crisp nights.

The greatest memory from the trip happened in our room. She was in her bed, the one closest to the bathroom. She was on her right side facing away from me and the bedside light. I had seen her in this position every time I ever entered her bedroom as a child. My husband was sitting beside me reading in our bed, and we were both still dressed from our afternoon matinee. She had already declared herself “in for the night” an hour or so earlier.

Many minutes passed in the city that never sleeps, and night darkened outside our single window facing Lexington Avenue. I thought she was sleeping because her hand-knitted cap – to cover chemo-ruined hair – was firmly in place and she was still.

Out of the blue, I heard, “We need pizza.”

She was right, and my husband was delighted. It is his favorite food in any city, but “street pizza” in NY is the delicious pinnacle. I forged ahead with questions about specifics – toppings and sauces – and she said, “Get five pieces, all different, and we’ll share.”

We loved every bite, and she marveled at the size of the slices – each in its own box – and wondered how we would ever finish them. It really wasn’t a problem any of us spent much time contemplating.

Pizza may not have been the wisest decision for late night food for a survivor over 70 years of age – or for her descendent and her husband. Ours was the smallest room the Waldorf offers, and we filled it with the wonderful smell of pizza. And probably the hall as well.

Today I walked alone from a borrowed apartment in New Jersey. I traipsed to the ferry and made my daily move into Manhattan. Every day before this one on this trip, I have been in motion with a member of my family – husband, sister or friend. I was never alone. Until today. It didn’t last, the alone part. Somewhere in the watery region between New Jersey and New York, I was with my grandmother again. She joined me on the ferry, and the memories of five days spent in this city ten years ago overwhelmed me. It was the last trip she ever took.

I believe we all have our own New York, whether we live there full time or live in it as visitors. Places we must visit every time we can. Neighborhoods we move through because they take us back to the first time we were there. Routes considered and re-considered depending upon the time of day.

My son’s New York continues to hold awe and discovery.

My sister’s New York has the Twin Towers in it.

My mother’s New York gifted us fancy truffles every time she returned to her children.

And her mother’s New York was the Waldorf-Astoria.

My New York? I’m still trying to figure it out. But I’m willing to come as often as it takes to solve the mystery. It’s probably all of their New Yorks combined with mine.

p.s. All of these photographs were taken on my daily walks to and from the ferry on this most recent trip to New York. On the last day, there was a parade. You can’t beat that with a stick.

In Constant Search of Authenticity & A Meal I Will Never Forget

I like my world with a bit of grit. If I spend more than a couple hours in a location that is sterile, homogenized or commercialized I start to get depressed. I begin to pace like a caged animal.

I like my world with a bit of grit. If I spend more than a couple hours in a location that is sterile, homogenized or commercialized I start to get depressed. I begin to pace like a caged animal. I get short and snappy with others. I start to worry that the world is in serious trouble. And, I have to stifle my urge to scream.

I don’t understand the appeal of chain stores, themed restaurants or branded theme parks. I went on a cruise once and seriously considered jumping ship more than once. I just wanted to feel the water. Looking at it from five stories up was pure torture. I was desperate to feel the cold water. To taste the salt. To be pulled by the waves.

I have a burning desire to travel before the cultures of the world are “walmarted” and “targeted” to death.

What will the world look like if all the small authentic businesses and communities disappear? You can’t rebuild, recreate or paint on a patina that will ever replace an original. It falls flat.

When I find authentic locales. I get excited. I don’t want to own something or eat something that is one of the millions manufactured. I want to own a one-in-a-million piece of art or eat a meal that can’t be found anywhere else.

I crave authenticity.

Which is why I will never forget the first time I ate at Le Maire’s in Sedalia, Missouri.

It wasn’t the original location, but it was original in every other way.

The fried clams were made as a starter just for us.

The place was spotless. We did share the place with 5 other tables. But, I didn’t take photos of the people because I “outed” myself as a crazy out-of-towner with my photo taking and it seemed rude.

The catfish dinner is the menu “must have”. My daughter insisted on ordering the adult sized platter and put away all six pieces of fish. Please note there is no oily residue on the plate.

The painted walls and murals created a festive Cajun mood.

There is a little grotto at the entrance honoring the founders, Joe and Frenchie Le Maire.

My daughter recommends the Gumball Coaster near the checkout counter for entertainment while you wait for your fresh fried catfish.

My Mother suggested the stop. She had known about it for many years. I threatened to never speak to her again for keeping it a secret this long, but my anger slipped away during the fried clam starter. The happiness I felt at discovering this truly authentic eatery made me giddy.

Most Important Job

There are work days that are so cut up – with meetings, events, and activities – that at the end of the day I look back in wonder. Wonder at what actually got done and what was left to be tackled later. Yesterday was one of those days for me and my rich, full life. And the most important job I had yesterday was in a rainforest.

Yesterday was one of those days for me and my rich, full life.

Over an hour clearing my e-mail accounts while the sun tried to rise. A meeting with an artist who is fearlessly taking his work to the “big time” at a New York trade show started my day at STUFF. An hour at my desk on details that can overwhelm if left too long in one spot. A trip to a local charity for check signing and a quick meeting. A powwow with another charity about fundraising at their annual luncheon. Another hour at my desk and an hour on the floor with customers. Two hours at a networking and food-tasting event. A ride home on the urban interstate while the sun sets, with a sister who challenges me and is a creative force to be reckoned with.

However, the most important job I had yesterday was in a rainforest. During the heat of noon time. Deep in the heart of midtown with a tour director that knew so much it was overwhelming, as was the crowd. Traveling up the Amazon with a small voice as your guide is the way to go. A third grader who knew not only about the “animal” she made for the project but who knew about the 40 others. I did not travel alone and was smart enough to know this was a trip the whole family would enjoy.

Like most nature vacations, this one was suited to your traveling pleasures. If you like to learn more data and see graphs, charts, reports and videos, she had that on hand. If viewing art that replicates the local flora and fauna turns you on, she had that too. If poetry and the spoken word are your thing, she provided that as well.

My son, who will be 17 next week, attended the same school as my niece, who led me up her Amazon yesterday. Her rainforest adventure immersed her – and her mother! – in the wonders of the piranha, while my family had absorbed all there was to know about leafcutter ants eight years ago. Ants that still hang in our play room at home.

Yesterday I was a rainforest visitor. I was tagged as a traveler before my trip began, a name tag I didn’t keep but should have worn all day and to every meeting. A personal reminder that the most important job I have is listening carefully and absorbing all the wonders while traveling in the deepest, darkest, and most formidable places…which can be my desk, a conference room, or the interior of my own mind.

p.s. The following photos are a reminder that the scariest creatures in the rainforest are the humans….

rainforest 11 — … my sister, mom and husband …

rainforest 7 — … my niece and my friend …

Cousins & Hairdos

I do not envy my son the following things: youth, thick hair, brainpower, speed, agility. Or even his dry, quiet humor. I do, however, envy him his cousins.

I do not envy my son the following things: youth, thick hair, brainpower, speed, agility. Or even his dry, quiet humor.

I do, however, envy him his cousins. He has more than a full house of amazing people to live his life with. Two in Chicago, one three blocks from home, and three more in our town. My cousins were not the best. Maybe this was because we were too close in age, we lived too far apart, one of them stole from me, or we spent so little time together that we had little in common.

This past weekend, we traveled to Chicago to begin the process of looking at colleges and universities for our son, a junior in high school. The highlight of the weekend was not the campus tour, the great road trip, or the fantastic food. It was watching my son get his hair done by his cousin, Emily – an untrained but enthusiastic twelve year old.

hair beginning — The beginning. The basket is chock-full of doodads,

She of the “super-thick Asian hair” was stunned by how thick his was. Within minutes of greeting him for the first time this weekend, she said, “Tonight I want to do your hair.” Dakota, my son, was pretty much not in full favor, but he played along for the rest of the day, during the walk to dinner – where he was the vehicle – and all through the dinner at a local restaurant while my niece regaled him with the instruments, gels, cremes, clips and equipment she planned to put to use. He playfully hemmed and hawed and told her to pretty much forget it.

She didn’t. When we all got home from dinner, she raced to retrieve all her implements and, clamoring back down the stairs, proceeded to get Dakota to sit up straight in the chair so she could begin.

He gave up and gave in. Before it was all done, they were both laughing and shooting selfies.

I have spent a few days looking at these pictures and digesting the smiles and smirks. These guys love each other and have a trust between them I will never know.

I do not envy him much. Not his cool demeanor, his calm personality, or even his temperament. Those I pretty much adore.

cousins totem — Cousin Totem Pole: She rode on his shoulders to dinner. I figure she was planning her attack on his hair from that vantage point.

Around The World

My friend went to Africa and I got these photos. Works for me. No jet lag.

I remember as a child going to friends’ houses – and one teacher’s house – to look at photos of trips taken to far away places. Sitting on the sofa, the carpet or a chair I was always enthralled with their stories, memories and images. These were usually very casual affairs planned at the spur of the moment. There were never too many images for me to take in. I remember going to the home of a friend of my great aunt Eunice to watch their slide show of a recent trip to Europe. The husband had served in World War II and although he did not want to show his wife the Europe he had seen, he had been keen to go back and see Europe with her. The photos were so vibrant and bold. I still love slides for their crispness,

I have enjoyed the immediacy of Facebook and the photo albums people post. When my friend posted these photos, it’s possible she was still standing in the Senegalese surf.

That said, I miss the slide shows and the impromptu photo get-togethers of my past. It is a goal of mine this year to make my Dad pull out my grandmother’s slide reels for a “memory making” night with his children and grandchildren. My sisters and I made our grandmother show them to us at least once a year when we visited. She stored these treasures in the cabinets hidden in the side tables in her living room. I knew at a young age that they must be important if they weren’t relegated to the attic or basement. I can’t wait for my Dad’s stories to mingle with the stories she told.

If you’re looking for me that night, I’ll be the little girl sitting on the itchy wool carpet soaking it all in. And I’ll bet my toe-headed blonde sister will be by my side with wide eyes and open ears.

p.s. My friend, Brenda, is allowing me to post these to Pinterest. You will find them there, and the only trouble for me will be which board to tack them to. I doubt I stop at just one.

Detroit and Me

In March, I fell in love with Detroit. It has not dampened my deep commitment to my city, but I am now sharing the love. It is a great American city. Truly. But today I felt like I had been socked in the gut.

In March, I fell in love with Detroit. It has not dampened my deep commitment to my city, but I am now sharing the love. It is a great American city. Truly.

I have followed Detroit’s bankruptcy proceedings through many media sources. All reliable and non-biased. I live in facts and details in most of what I do, so this affair has been no different.

Today on National Public Radio they ran the next installment in what has been a long and continuing story on the Motor City from multiple angles and points-of-view. This was about the Detroit Institute of Art possibly selling its multiple-billion-dollar collection – which is owned by the “people of the City of Detroit” – to help honor the debts of the city.

I cried. I pulled the car over, finished my tears, and pulled myself together. I felt like I had been socked in the gut. I had just been in that museum at spring break. I had just talked about that collection and its curatorial staff at a meeting this week at The Nelson. I had just….

I could not get over the fact that the soul of the city – its art collection – was currently being appraised by Christie’s and was being considered for auction and/or sale.

Why can’t the Detroit Lions or the Red Wings or the Pistons be considered for auction and possible sale? Why is art, yet again, being called upon to set its people free?

Because that’s what it did when its people made Detroit its home in the first place.

The people of the City of Detroit slowly purchased the art for the people. Wealthy people spearheaded some selections. However, a curator told me during my trip that “everyday” people started and finished fundraising campaigns for many of the pieces in the collection. Groups of people. Committees. People who saw that art would bring so much to the people who were busy most days in big, loud industries building with their hands big mechanical things. They knew that people who worked hard with their hands and their bodies would be very receptive to art and her redemptive powers.

I’m still not at peace with this issue. I don’t know if I ever will be. I will continue to listen and learn. I am going to try and visit Detroit again very soon and eat in her locally owned restaurants, sleep in her locally owned boutique hotels, talk with her smitten residents, and visit her amazing museums and public spaces.

I don’t know what I will do when I enter an art museum that is devoid of its center of gravity. I guess I will figure that out when I get there.

Here is a photo that I didn’t post earlier this year when I returned from Detroit. If you want to see more of my photos and hear about that trip, click here.

Business or Pleasure?

Last week, my sister and I traveled to New York City for a business trip.

Last week, my sister and I traveled to New York City for a business trip. Business travel is different from pleasure travel. Pleasure travel has a certain speed to it, usually relaxed. However, when we travel to New York, it is hard to tell the difference because we love the city so much. We keep a rapid and packed schedule, but we find time to enjoy the tiny, minute and forgotten pieces of the Big Apple while taking in all the big, loud and spectacular.

When I got home, I was sent a survey from a hotel chain that my husband and I use and for which we collect points. One of the questions was something along the lines of, “How often do you stay overnight for business and how much for pleasure?”