The STUFF Sisters

Big Brother

In this world of “big brother” advertising, where Google tracks your searches, Facebook targets what ads you see and every click you make is sold to a marketer somewhere in the world, I had almost forgotten about targeted snail mail. In my former career I trained organizations on the importance of targeted mailings and phone calls.

When this catalog arrived at my home my first thought was “Wow, how did they do that?” My daughter and I share our home with a Bernese Mountain Dog and a orange tabby kitten.

I am sure the technology is already available. I am sure the day when we start receiving snail mail pieces with photos that are selected specifically for each of us is just right around the corner. Just think if the front of each catalog was printed with you, your pet, your car, your sofa, etc on the front. It has already happened to me.

: Emma & Google ?

Birthday Lunch

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.

Inspiration Boards

This image inspires me. I love these kinds of spaces and idea boards. But, I must admit I can’t help but ask…who has to dust all that?

Sophistication

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. – Leonardo Da Vinci

This quote is on my bulletin board above my desk. I read it almost every day. On a trip to Atlanta recently, I was finally reading my magazines from November. I saw this ad and immediately thought of the quote.

This photo reminds me of Richard Avedon’s work. It is simply classic.

Brunch-Blocked

I enjoy language. Word play is fun. So, when I recently read the term “brunch-block” in an email, I cracked up.

I enjoy language. Word play is fun. So, when I recently read the term “brunch-block” in an email, I cracked up. The sender was being literal. She was proposing to plan a brunch for a good friend and she discovered that a brunch was already being planned. She then stated that she hadn’t meant to “brunch-block” the host.

I am stealing this term. I will be using it. And, every time I do, it will make me happy.

PS…Since we are talking about brunch, I thought I would share one of my favorite brunch spots.

When Mommies Freak Out

When my darling boy was a little over 2 years old, I drove the wrong way down one way streets and sped through red lights after looking both ways.

When my darling boy was a little over 2 years old, I drove the wrong way down one way streets and sped through red lights after looking both ways. Or maybe my husband did that. Can’t remember exactly who was behind the wheel because I may have been freaking out. We got there and parked in under 8 minutes.

My husband and I escorted our young son into Children’s Mercy Hospital way after midnight all those years ago on feet that never touched the floor. A mere few minutes before that, we had been sleeping in our bed when the sound of troubled breathing from the baby’s room woke us both with a start. We knew something was wrong, and it really sounded like he had swallowed something and it was stuck. Stuck right beyond where we could dig it out with cupped fingers. We know, because we tried.

We had been out earlier that night. The sweet boy had been with his favorite sitter in our home. We had houseguests – my very pregnant best friend and her husband were sleeping over while their floors were being refinished a few blocks away. They were asleep as well.

But not for long. When a wheezing sound from another human hits you that hard, you have trouble breathing yourself. I caught my breath enough to wake our guests, call the babysitter, ask a few questions, and dress us all for quality time in the emergency room.

I can still see my friend Cathy – out to there with baby #1 – in silhouette at the top of my stairs telling me to call her. She had the same look of fear in her eyes that I did.

We flew into the hospital, and everyone could hear that something was wrong. Those geniuses knew what it was from his first exhalation in their presence. They are that good. I believe we heard the word “spasmodic croup” before the next inhalation. We answered 900 questions, filed a gazillion forms, and paid a co-pay with a credit card in the exam room. And then our friend Scott walked in the room.

scott & D — Scott and our son on Valentine's Day this year.

How he knew we were there I will never know. He is a respiratory therapist at Children’s Mercy, and he walked into the room in the heat of it all. He was as cool, calm and collected as the other staff. They all seem to know each other at that particular hospital, and they all seem to love their jobs. It is palpable when you meet any of them – in or out of the hospital.

When it was ascertained that there already was a respiratory therapist in the room for our son and Scott was asked why was he there, he simply stated, in true Scott fashion, “I’m not here for him. I’m here for her,” and he swiftly pointed to me.

He made the whole room smile with that line. He made me laugh hard enough to have oxygen reach the bottom of my lungs – at the exact moment our son ceased to struggle due to the vapors coming at him from a crazy machine. He made the whole room relax.

And then he was gone. Back to the children that needed him. He hugged my husband and me, patted our son on the back, and left.

We spent a few more hours at the hospital, and we never laid eyes on Scott again that night. We went home and slept well. Our son never had another episode in infanthood. Or ever.

Lucky us. For having friends who know exactly when they are needed, and for having a son who knows to just have his croup “spasmodically” and not every day.

Lifecycles

Recently a friend posted a photo to Facebook that shook me a little bit. My mind was racing all over the place with memories of my own life.

Recently a friend posted a photo to Facebook that shook me a little bit. My mind was racing all over the place with memories of my own life. Of comments made in the past by strangers and friends. Then I let my mind go silent.

In the spring of 2008, my last grandparent passed away – My Dad’s mom. I hold firmly to my belief that I am a better person having had grandparents who loved me and were alive well into my 30’s and 40’s. Mostly, I am a better person for having had a hand in caring directly for my grandma during her last year.

When her health dictated that it was time for her to leave her Mid-Missouri home and move to Kansas City to be nearer to her family, she embraced it whole-heartedly. Her statement was, “I’ve always wanted to live in the big city!” The day she spoke those words to me, I wrote them down so that I wouldn’t forget that adventure comes at every age.

My father found a place for her to live in south Kansas City that was very near her primary care doctor, but I think he knew that the best medicine for her was to be super close to her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Finally, after all the years of driving to Mid-Missouri to see any of my grandparents, I had one living less that 4 miles from my home. I was a little bit excited.

I tried to visit her two times a week, but some weeks found me there only once. Those weeks were hard for me, because I have inherited from both of my grandmothers a need to not be “cooped up” and to “get out for a little while,” to paraphrase them both. I was always afraid that, when I was unable to visit, she would suffer from this virus we all shared. I called her every day, and we spoke of much. She let loose with a few thoughts she’d been harboring for years, and those utterances left me speechless several times. Deep issues regarding her life with my grandfather and, therefore, my father. I was glad she released them, and, two times in particular when I didn’t respond quickly, she asked if I was OK and I told her I just needed a little time to think about what she said. She replied, “I’ve got time.”

What was amazing to me about my grandma’s last year was that many of my friends and aquaintances were stunned that I would take my son with me to care for his great grandmother. I found no shame in having him help me with her hair, putting away her small amount of groceries, cleaning her bathroom, lotioning her legs, and, on one occasion, trimming her toenails. One person admonished me with this line: “He doesn’t need to see all that.”

Yes, he did. We all do. The lessons that are learned at the end of life are as great as the lessons I learned at the beginning of my son’s life.

He never saw her naked. He never cleaned up the truly messy parts of her bathroom. He sat on the edge of her chair and charmed her with stories of basketball and art class and his younger cousin. He told her about the trials and tribulations of the 4th and then 5th grades. He read her mail to her and described every detail of the art on the greeting cards, because the finer parts were lost to her macular degeneration. He helped her decorate her door and bedside table for the passing seasons and always was a guiding force on how the magnets and photos were displayed on her tiny under-the-cabinet refrigerator.

I was not prepared for the fact that so many people spoke to me about not understanding why I did all this,I talked to a family lawyer from the criminal lawyers Melbourne office. It was more people than those who could easily see why this was so important to me. And why it was important to have my son see the glory of living past 85.

A series of strokes dictated when the time came for her to enter the hospital and never leave. My son only visited her in the hospital once. It was early in the episodes, and she was cognitive and aware, smiling and laughing. She was still his “Gramma Ginny”. He got right up into the bed with her, and her eyes just blazed. I remember thinking he was so comfortable in a place that makes most people ultra-nervous and stiff.

I am amazed at how much he remembers from this year we had with her in The Big City. We showed her a good time, given all the limitations. We made a little magic.

p.s. I want to thank my friend Shelly DeMotte Kramer for letting me share her photo of her daughter with her father-in-law. You can see the second pair of hands to the left in the photo. Shelly has twin girls, and the human caring they share in this photo is amazing. Shelly and her family laid him to rest today.

p.p.s Casey wrote an amazing blog in 2008 about my grandmother. Find it here.

Falling in Love Again

For 17 years, we lived with one dog. He was amazing, and he was cherished. This past August, we let him go into his good night.

For 17 years, we lived with one dog. He was amazing, and he was cherished. This past August, we let him go into his good night. His name was Einstein, and I still miss him terribly. However, a month or so ago, I felt the grieving end. I was able to look at photos and say his name without a catch in my voice or a quick blink.

Einstein was our baby when we brought our bouncing baby boy home. They took to each other instantly, and it had everything to do with the full-face lick our son received when he was 16 hours old and the carrier was set in front of Einstein soon after our arrival home. They were thick as thieves, and Einstein never betrayed his love for our young man.

He stayed true to our son through the perils of toddlerhood. My theory? Because Einstein had spent our son’s babyhood under the high chair and it had been glorious for him. The new parent in each of us knew to be grateful for Einstein’s help in making sure the floor was always spic and span.

He stayed true to my husband and me when daily walks weren’t always achieved in a coordinated and timely fashion. We think this patience with us was direct compensation for spending every night for 17 years in our bed with us.

Then, last Wednesday, I started to fall in love again, and my voice only caught once that day. We were at the shelter, the final decision had been made, and the money had changed hands. We were merely waiting for someone to unlock the cage. When I said to my husband, “Let’s take him home,” I lost it just a tiny bit.

Here’s why:

Falling in love again has been easy. Edison is wonderful, and we will all grow a little bit older together. To me, it’s the beginning of another perfect love story,

p.s. Should you want to read more about Einstein, click here.

Photo Credit: These shots were captured just this afternoon by Joy Albright. I owe her one.

Love Affair

I fell in love tonight with a naked man in a museum.

With my 14 year old son standing by. I was not embarassed by my behavior.

I love Friday nights at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art because there are never crowds of people and it always has a hint of a festive mood – that “end of the week” buzz. The guards are a wee bit chipper and make more than eye contact. The rooms hum with the feeling that, although the weekend will be busy, this is the real calm before the storm. This is when the “real” stuff happens. This is when the art sings to you in a quiet room and sinks in a little deeper.

That’s exactly what happened between me and “Man Falling” by Auguste Rodin. He sang to me and I fell in love.

Kisses

We wish you the happiest holidays and we hope you get everything you wish for. Hugs and kisses – Casey and Sloane

Kisses linger.

Kisses warm.

Kisses soothe.

Kisses bless.

Kisses carry silent messages and lasting emotions.

Every kiss we hand out during the holidays carries all of our well wishes and dreams for our customers. You have lingered with us over great stories, and you’ve warmed us when life got too chilly. You have blessed us with your business, and you’ve left the artists we represent soothed by the knowledge that their hard work is well received.

We wish you the happiest holidays and we hope you get everything you wish for.

Hugs and kisses.

Casey & Sloane Simmons
Sisters & Co-owners