The STUFF Sisters

Blush

It isn’t easy to get a Simmons sister to blush, but we are not comfortable sitting still and letting the spotlight be on us. With this realization and admission, we are bravely passing this along. We couldn’t have conceived a better Christmas gift.

It isn’t easy to get a Simmons sister to blush. We like to think we are prepared for every situation. We are comfortable sharing our opinions, our joy, our pain, and our emotions at work, at home, and in our blog.

But we are not comfortable sitting still and letting the spotlight be on us. With this realization and admission, we are bravely passing this along. Our close friends insisted we celebrate this recognition. We couldn’t have conceived a better Christmas gift. We are deeply thankful.

p.s. Click here to read the article.

People Not Product

The grand irony in our lives is that we own a store named…STUFF. We should have named it The Artist. From day one, we have focused on our artists first. Read the email for more and for great photos of many of our artists.

The grand irony in our lives is that we own a store named…STUFF. We should have named it The Artist. From day one, we have focused on our artists first. We have always encouraged them to follow their creative paths. We have always told them to value themselves and their work. We have always offered them access to our experience in the art-selling business as it evolves (and boy howdy, has it evolved). And we have always treated them as real people – not machines, not factories, not nameless, faceless, grossly under-valued workers in some far off land.

Have we had some rough spots? You bet! We are all only human. At times our stress or their stress has clashed. Do we disagree sometimes? You bet! We are all wildly passionate people. But we all respect each other and work together to move forward. To support the arts in all its forms. And in the end we are just like you: we all have to pay our mortgages, feed and clothe our families, and participate in our communities.

Last week we sent a note to our artists and asked for photographs of them and their families. These images are what were sent to us. Each time we opened a new digital file, we would smile and sometimes giggle and our hearts would expand a little bit more. These photos reflect them so perfectly. Their personalities come shining through. The love they have for their families, their pet companions, and their creative lives is alive in each and every photograph.

It is with our deepest gratitude that we share this “holiday card” with you, our loyal customer and friend. You support these artists and their families every single time you shop here.

We hope to see you soon.

Happy Holidays,

Body Lotion, Cling Wrap and Chapstick Walk Into A Bar…

We all turn into our parents and grandparents. I think I’m ready to talk about this.

I think I’m ready to talk about this.

On the premise that we all turn into our parents and grandparents, I have decided that I might most be like my dad’s dad, who saved old, used, no-longer-lightable light bulbs in cardboard boxes in his workshop. Or I might be like my mom’s dad, who used the very last of the Chapstick by digging out the remaining wax magic with a Q-tip and then proceeding with the application process in private.

Yep. That’s who I am most like. Cal Price.

I have used the same body lotion for over 30 years. Vaseline Intensive Care in the jumbo container with the pump. I have very sensitive skin, and I can’t just jump willy-nilly from brand to brand, or I will end up at the dermatologist with the rash to end all rashes. Been there, done that.

I will admit to using specialty lotions on elbows, ankles and kneecaps – Soaplogies shea butter in the lavender scent – but, on the whole, I am a Vaseline girl. I have lived through the scent changes, bottle re-designs, and various other attempts by them to knock me off course. But I’ve stayed true.

Even through this last bottle re-design where there is over TWO INCHES of lotion left in the bottom of the plastic bottle when the last squirt has been eased from the pump. It seems like the well is dry when in fact it is not!

So I have taken to using our serrated bread knife to saw through the plastic bottle – tossing the top in the recycle bin and the pump in the trash bin – and going after the lotion with my fingertips. There is usually several weeks of lotion remaining for use, and I just have to removed the very fancy – designed by me for easy access! – Cling Wrap topper for daily use.

I was too embarrassed to show the fancy plastic wrap lid in the photo above. I do have my principles.

Just like my grandfather who kept the Q-tips and old Chapstick tube in his bathroom drawer while the new Chapstick tube rode in his pocket with his change.

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.

Suffocation

Winter is hard for me. Not because it is the opposite of summer, but because I am not a fan of socks. To me, all were made in the devil’s workshop.

Winter is hard for me. Not because it is the opposite of summer, but because I am not a fan of socks. Ankle socks, knee socks, thigh-highs or tights. To me, all were made in the devil’s workshop.

For years I have tried to get around my trouble with socks by purchasing brightly-colored and patterned specimens. The thought was that they would make me happy and I would see beyond my issues. Several were made in Paris and made me feel a wee bit cosmopolitan, until I began to feel like I was heating up like a house afire. My all time favorites were made in Vermont and are bright, cotton, mismatched fantasies.

My toes need to move. I need to feel cool air on my lower extremities. Things that bind feel like they are holding me back – never my favorite emotion. Suffocation starts to set in the minute fabric is pulled past my arch. The list goes on and on.

I have discussed this condition with my primary care doctor, and, after confirming nothing truly physical – internal or external – was causing this, I was again met with “the stare.” The look isn’t one where he is accusing me of mental health issues. The sight he rested on me pretty much said, “Just don’t wear socks.” Duh.

However, snow is the real problem, and it was easily mastered when I purchased my Frye boots with shearling lining last year. The boots tromp with me through the snow, and my bare feet are free to roam in cushy protection.

Now, don’t get me started on how lipstick makes me feel….

Champion of Small Business

For over 17 years, we have followed our love of art, creativity, living out loud, and focusing on people not product. We couldn’t have done it without you. YOU are the champion of small business.

For over 17 years, we have followed our love of art, creativity, living out loud, and focusing on people not product. We have allowed ourselves to get excited, share our passion, and even show our concerns at times.

We have lived out loud. We have joined hands with our greater community in so many ways. (We will leave it to you to read more on our colorful and rich website.) We are living the American dream. We have been told many, many times that “that can’t be done,” and we have stubbornly dug in deeper to prove “them” wrong. We have never given up, and the odds have been against us many times. Truthfully, the odds are against every small business.

So why do we – and we mean all small business owners – do it?

This Saturday – the Saturday after Thanksgiving – is “Small Business Saturday”. A handful of years ago a BIG corporate giant deemed it so. It stuck.

First we would like to say we are tickled turquoise that American Express chose to champion small business. Considering all their other choices of how to spend millions of dollars in marketing and brand development, the fact that they choose little ol’ us is remarkable. For this we are grateful – honestly and truly.

So…here we are, two short days from SMALL BUSINESS SATURDAY (said with a booming voice), and we would like to pause from our hurried holiday lives to think about what this day means to us – the “STUFF sisters.”

Much like each piece in our store, this store is handmade. There is no greater reward than to step back and witness something you have built with your own hands.

We want to thank our community for its long tradition of giving. We want to thank American Express for becoming the champion of “small”. We want to thank our artists for their art. We want to thank our parents and grandparents for raising us among small businesses. We want to thank our team at STUFF for pouring their hearts into their work. We want to thank our children and loved ones for supporting us during busy times.

And we want to thank you. You are the real champion of small business. Thank you for shopping in our small store.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Casey & Sloane

Casey & Sloane Simmons
Sisters & Co-owners

Real Pain

NOTE: These next few paragraphs will be chock-full of strong words and graphic images. They are not for the faint of heart….

I am in real pain. I know this to be true, because I gave birth vaginally 16+ years ago and this is worse. Every year I enter into this zone of pain, a place that was made for me genetically.

I have fingertips that split the minute the temperature drops, the swimming pools close, and my work load increases. One minute, all is well. Computer keystrokes and ink pen holding is painless. Minute two: there is blood on the keypad, and the pen unable to be lifted.

A serious case of “then it cracked when it was almost healed over”. Previous pain center clearly visible just north and west of new crack.

My grandmother – my mother’s mother – suffered from this horrible syndrome, and I paid little or no attention to her concerns or yearly warnings. She was the queen of lotions and personal nail & hand care. She had a file, a clipper, a buffer and cream for everything that ailed her hands. Still the splits came on with the drier weather. She was strong, but I saw her wince more than once when her hands entered warm soapy water with the dinner dishes.

I have never broken a bone – knock on wood. I have never been admitted to a hospital – OK, one night with the young man’s arrival. I take only two pills a day – one aspirin and one vitamin. I have only well-person visits to my retinue of doctors every year. I volunteer at a health clinic, but I only meet, plan and joke with the staff and board of directors.

This is real pain. It never stops throbbing. Band-Aids and Neosporin at night are no match for Nu-Skin during the day. Nu-Skin is my savior and drug of choice. However, my pain is so powerful that it only takes a few hours for me to break through the Nu-Skin crust and run gasping for the little bottle and miniscule brush when the oxygen reaches the nerve endings. Second and third coats are my nirvana. My increased fourth-quarter work load with packing tape, box cutters, labels and cardboard only adds to the workplace stressors.

The crack in the Nu-Skin crust is visible on this specimen, sighted earlier today in my car.

At the end of a meeting the other day at the health clinic, I mentioned to the lead physician that I lived in fear of lymphoma entering my open wounds with my addiction to Nu-Skin. He looked at me like the crazy person I am and said, “Well, you could do what doctors do and use Super Glue.” This from a trusted professional and friend.

I suffer. I do.

If I’m not at work, here’s why: I’ll be out scouting new pain medication – maybe at the liquor store or possibly trying to score meth.

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.

Wasted Time

I try not to dwell on things that I can not change anymore. I still need lots of practice. Since I am not cured of this curse, I would like to vent my frustration with spammers.

I believe that any person that has any hand in creating the noise we call spam and wastes the time of their fellow humans should be inconvenienced in equally frustrating ways.

Here a few suggestions:

Red lights won’t change.
Their toothbrush is missing every morning.
Their food at restaurants doesn’t arrive in a timely manner.
Every time they bite into a taco it drips grease on their pants.
They can never find a parking space.
The 6′ 4″ Dude is always seated directly in front of them.
They constantly run out of milk for their cereal.
If they are a chick…their tights never stay up.
If they are a dude…their zipper won’t stay zipped.
Every time they are focused at work, someone places a completely unnecessary stack of papers on top of their work space and it can not be removed without each piece of paper being handle individually.

Feel free to add to my list. You will find more joy in facing your email inbox.

Sharing Behaviors

It seems to be vastly believed that Casey and I share a brain. We do not. We’ve actually had a customer ask if we live together. We do not. We do not share clothes. I don’t share one particular Chinese dish very well, and she never shares her last shrimp on a salad. We have been known to borrow jewelry from each other, but that is becoming rarer.

However, there are some things we do share, and they are eerily funny. Last Thursday – Halloween – our stepmom stopped by the store for a quick meeting with me. She lovingly heads up the tagging of all the holiday ornaments, and she finished a few days ahead of schedule. We were able to meet on a few details, and then she was free for another year!

As she was turning to park the car, she saw a woman in a witch’s hat trip while looking down at the curb. If not trip, then falter. When the woman stood up, it was Casey.

Casey was walking back from the coffee shop and her eye had caught the most amazing water deposits on a fallen leaf. She had stopped, with her arms and hands full, to catch a photo on her phone. She admits to tripping a bit on the sidewalk as she positioned herself for the perfect shot.

Not an hour before Casey’s clumsiness, I was on my back deck, heading to work with my arms full of bags and boxes and my hands clutching my daily iced tea, when I saw photos I just had to take. Leaves plastered to the wood and still wet from two days of rain. Lichen brought to life by cooler temperatures and no sun.

The effort of getting my camera out of my purse while not putting a single item down on the wet surfaces was a balancing act worthy of a circus. I perched my drink inside my tote and I fleetingly wondered what my excuse would be if it spilled into my computer. Sure, it was lidded, but did that matter when you were bent over with a camera and the tote was sideways on your back?

Four clicks later, I was in the car – tea perfectly safe – headed toward a meeting I didn’t want to miss with yet another amazing family volunteer.

Casey was clumsy on the curb, and I was not quite balanced on my deck. All for the perfect shots. And both at almost the same time. Sharing behaviors.

We freak me out sometimes.

p.s. I’m guessing if we cause a big enough stink, Casey will post her photo to a blog. If only….