S. Sloane Simmons and Casey Simmons
Sisters and business partners sharing life's stuff....
I married well. Sure, I helped pay for the Big 10 education …
I married well. Sure, I helped pay for the Big 10 education, but it was my husband who repaired the lamp.
Look at her shine.
.
p.s. She never left the kitchen table, where she is seen here. She spent the weekend being poked and prodded, but she came through like a champ. If you are wondering what in the world I am talking about, click here.
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I clearly heard my grandfather in my head this morning. When I reached over my desk and turned the switch and the click wasn’t the same, I heard him say, “They just don’t make things like they used to.”
I clearly heard my grandfather in my head this morning. When I reached over my desk and turned the switch and the click wasn’t the same, I heard him say, “They just don’t make things like they used to.”
Now, honestly, they don’t. My office desk lamp was the current casualty in a line of things that are not made to last as long as I think they should.* It had been a gift to me for high school graduation from one of my mother’s friends. A person nameless to me now. The lamp went with me to a year at Mizzou and did even greater duty providing the decorative impetus for me to outfit my first cubicle with red accents – stapler, incoming and outgoing metal baskets, metal pencil cup, desk lamp. Maybe even a trash can, the underneath of my first desk eluding me from this distance of time.
It was still doing duty at my current desk when the tragedy occurred. This is a great lamp. One hundred watt limit allowing for serious illumination then – when graphic design was key to my employment – and now – when my reading-glass-swaddled eyes need the boost of decent light. A weighted bottom so it can be contorted into any shape or direction. Metal-on-metal tension screws for fixing the direction of the arms and the shade.
My corded friend just recently had an appointment with my husband due to a small popping noise where the bulb met metal. It never smoked or sparked, and he was able to find and fix the problem very soon after begging me to unplug in before it “fried”. His words; pure drama.
Today it didn’t even make the right clicking sound as I turned it on, but I still went looking for another bulb, and, when that wasn’t the problem, I checked that it was plugged in. Little troubleshooting things that are in my electrical skill set.
I did not tear up when unplugging it from the wall, although I was tested by the voice and my sporadic attachment to inanimate objects. Instead, I took a deep breath and walked toward the dumpster. Where I instead gently placed it in the back seat of my parked car on a soft, folded sheet.
Home to my husband, where I promptly received “the look” when my intentions were made apparent. It was placed on the kitchen table – by me – because things in that location have a tendency to be dealt with over the coming weekend.
“Is it too much to ask that things are built to last?” I remember another grandfather saying, most likely over something greater than an inexpensive desk lamp. I can’t really say.
I am praying for a positive outcome from the impending surgery. Thirty years isn’t really so much to ask for from a desk lamp, is it?
My grandfathers wouldn’t think so, I just know it.
* STUFF vacuums. Don’t get me started.
p.s. Tell me you can’t see and feel its jaunty personality from these photos! Pixar Studios has nothing on my sweet little lamp. Heck, it’s older than their first films!
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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.
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.
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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.
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She stood there holding the plastic-encased sheet cake in tiny hands. Her eyes were huge as I opened the door, and she looked up at me with bright blue eyes and said, “Lala, this is a bar!”
She stood there holding the plastic-encased sheet cake in tiny hands. Her eyes were huge as I opened the door, and she looked up at me with bright blue eyes and said, “Lala, this is a bar!” as she confidently crossed the threshold into what she had been told would be a restaurant. “I’ve never been to a bar,” were her next words – spoken quietly and more to herself than to me.
She continued her comments as we walked toward the room dedicated to our party and got settled. She had been with me since I picked her up from school 90 minutes earlier, and she was already running the show. I was delighted to have been delivered of a leader –Â at a grade school! – so late in the day. I needed the help, and her excitement was contagious.
“Is this our place?”
“Is it a bar or a restaurant?”
“This is really nice. Look at the pillows.”
“Should we put the cake and cards here?”
“Will they light the candles on all the tables?”
“This whole room is for Uncle Harl?”
“Can I help hand out the favors?”
Last week was a week like no other in recent history. My work life was overfull, my time with my son was at an all-time low due to his schedule and mine, every evening had harbored an event, and the whole week was to culminate in a celebration of my husband’s fifty years on Earth.
I clearly needed the help of someone younger and full of energy. I found her waiting for me in the carpool line already in her party dress and shiny sandals. We whisked off to the grocery store for the cake I had never thought to order, having prayed since noon that extra cakes could be found at my grocer. Plates and forks would be needed as well, and who better than an enthusiastic niece to make these decisions? She got a little tripped up on the math of how many sets of plates we would need to reach 50 if they came in sets of eight. “It would be easier with paper and a pencil. Just give me a minute.” As she thought the multiplication and division through, she found sets of 10 plates, and that made the decision so swift.
Special “number” candles were chosen, chocolate or white cake was debated, icing patterns were deliberated, and we were in the car headed to the restaurant within 20 minutes.
However, it was her decision on how to get her uncle’s name on the cake that makes me smile even now. It was found in the cracker aisle: Scrabble Cheez-its.
Always perfect with chocolate cake.
p.s. Bistro 303 is a restaurant and a bar. It is one of my favorite places in town, even after Derrick gave my niece a butcher knife when she went in search of something to cut the cake with. Well, a butcher knife and a Bic lighter for the big 5 and 0. She truly is a Girl Scout – no cuts and no burns!
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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.
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I read Vogue magazine every month. I like to get my fashion mixed with a bit of substance.
I read Vogue magazine every month. I like to get my fashion mixed with a bit of substance. Yes, I am the dork that reads their well-written articles. (W Magazine is also on my bedside table.)
I came across this short piece about crystal necklaces in the recent issue. They were featured in a runway show this season. I got a bit of a rush to find something we sell at our store featured in Vogue.
STUFF sells Swarovski crystal necklaces, earrings and bracelets. We work with a designer in Berlin, Germany. They have been a STUFF staple for many years. The single strand – like you see in this image – is one of our most popular.
I added one to my personal collection a few years back, and find that I wear it more often than I believed I would. One of my favorite ways is to throw it on with casual T-shirts and skirts. It takes my weekend run-about wardrobe to a new level. And, if I find myself invited to last minute afternoon drinks, I am dressed.
I loved seeing them featured in Vogue. I felt so fashionable and current.
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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.
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I was frustrated last night. Angry frustrated. I wanted to walk in a charity walk with my Dad, and everything in my life conspired against me all afternoon and into the evening. I didn’t have a pity party, but I did throw a private hissy fit.
I was frustrated last night. Angry frustrated. I wanted to walk in a charity walk with my Dad, and everything in my life conspired against me all afternoon and into the evening. When I called him to finally tell him I just wasn’t going to make it, I got my stepmom on the phone. My voice broke when admitting I wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t have a pity party, but I did throw a private hissy fit. It went something like this:
Why is this city getting so big and busy that I can’t get to Corporate Woods in 20 minutes at the end of rush hour?
Why would a charity hold an event on a Friday night and have it begin at 6:30? Don’t they know people own businesses that don’t close at 5pm?
Why did I have a child? Didn’t I know he would grow up and have a busy life and need rides?
Why did I marry a man who is always busy with his own small business?
Why can’t I just do what I want to do and not have so many people demanding so much of me? Don’t they know I just want to walk in the dark with my Dad and remember his incredible journey through cancer? Don’t they know I want to hold a delicately glowing balloon in the quiet of a wooded suburban setting?
Then the moon came out. The biggest, most beautiful moon of the year so far. By that time of my night, I was back at my business sneaking in a few important tasks between car rides for my young man. I stepped out into our back alley to get something out of the car and was blown away by the brightness of the night sky. Then I saw the monster moon. I turned, locked the door to the store, and walked around the block.
Quietly. Slowly. In the glowing night. By myself. And, in every way, my Dad was there with me while I quickly put the hissy fit to bed.
p.s. At the end of the evening, I realized I was where I was supposed to be last night. When my final pick-up of the golden child occurred, the first thing he said to me was, “Mom, did you see that moon?” I told him that indeed I had and that I had bathed in her amazing powers. That’s when I got the look that only a sixteen year old can grant.
p.p.s. I know you’ve been humming The Stones while you read this. That makes me smile!
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Yesterday I pretty much lost it at the intersection of 47th and Main Street. Yes, it was rush hour. Yes, it’s a busy intersection. Yes. Yes. Yes. Whatever.
Yesterday I pretty much lost it at the intersection of 47th and Main Street. A gaggle of geese decided to cross the busy intersection. And they were doing a darned fine job of staying within the cross walk, if the painter of said lines had been into jaywalking. They were lovely and in lockstep with their mission.
Some jerk – several, in fact – decided they didn’t have time to wait for them to finish crossing and proceeded with the lights to curve tightly around the birds. The birds just stood still until they had passed and started walking again. No squawking. No flight. No bird hurt.
Just me in my car fighting back tears that could not be contained. Yes, it was rush hour. Yes, it’s a busy intersection. Yes. Yes. Yes. Whatever. This was a chance for everyone within eyesight to take a moment, watch nature overcoming engineering, and wait for the magic to end.
I have stated before, in older blogs, that I do not condone driving and crying. It’s dangerous. So I kind of stopped crying when it was time to press on the pedal, but several tears wouldn’t stay lidded up. They needed to finish, and it gave me time to process where these emotions in me were coursing from.
I work hard. Most people do. I work – and play – at a speed that thrills me. Most people do. However, I am embracing more and more the peace that can be found in the noise. When a funeral procession is moving toward me, I pull over and live in the peace of a few minutes remembering those in my life who have been escorted in darkened and cooled hearses. When an ambulance is roaring behind me, I pull over and remember a sister whose last ride was in a brightly lit boxy vehicle manned by professionals.
And when geese cross the road – the road that is leading me to my work and all that my life has in store for me – I stop and wonder at the beauty and power of slow, precise footfalls.
I am beginning to find more peace in the noise and live in it. Yesterday I did so for as long as it took for my feathered friends to get to greener grass. Funny, we were headed for the same thing.
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