S. Sloane Simmons and Casey Simmons
Sisters and business partners sharing life's stuff....
My sister, Sloane, posted a blog today titled “Tentacles”. I was struck dumb when I read it, because I had just saved this image to my desktop yesterday. We must be broadcasting that “spooky sister connection” our mother always talks about.
My sister, Sloane, posted a blog today titled “Tentacles”. I was struck dumb when I read it, because I had just saved this image to my desktop yesterday. We must be broadcasting that “spooky sister connection” our mother always talks about.
This image was featured in a widget I have on my iGoogle page called Artist A Day. You can find them here. I discover new artists from them all the time. Here is the link to the artist’s website.
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The holiday season brings out the best in me. Well, in my ability to handle many, many things.
The holiday season brings out the best in me. Well, in my ability to handle many, many things. As a self diagnosed “Type A Control Freak”, I enjoy this time of year. My only regret is that, with so many places to be and things to get done, I feel like I need more arms to hold it all together.
Which brings me to this photo:
I have very little time to read when my day ends, and reading is one of my favorite things in the world. My husband will account for the fact that, right now, there are very few minutes between the shower, me hitting the sheets, and me closing my eyes. Like everyone I know, my days in December are long, multi-faceted and demanding.
Two days ago, I found time to look through one of my favorite monthly treasures – National Geographic – and found this photo. It left me mesmerized and silent. Look at all the subtle colors. Look at the peacefulness.
I hope to feel like this in January. Contained. With all my tentacles in tact.
p.s. This photo must be credited to Jeffrey de Guzman. He captured it on a nightime dive in the Philippines. The octopus has found a place of rest inside a broken bottle. This little bit of magic was not part of an article but merely a favorite of the editors from photos received from readers. Check out December’s National Geographic Magazine here.
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I was out last week with a group of friends to celebrate a 40th birthday. The birthday girl’s husband had reserved a private room at a local bar, opened the bar to us, and made sure the snacks were abundant. I didn’t try any of the snacks. I know this because I was happily keeping my custom-printed cup full of cocktails instead. It was gearing up to be a fantastic night.
When the timer on our private room expired, we moved upstairs for the band. At this point the remaining group was a heaping handful of close friends, all married, all spouses accounted for, and me. The single woman. I am used to being the only single person in a group of married people. I show up to most social events alone. I don’t bring a “crutch” date (another single girl friend or a married person that is out without her husband). I just go everywhere alone. I mean let’s face it, folks: I am alone when it comes to couples events.
So…we were – how should I say this politely – loose with drink. And ready for some dance therapy. Cue birthday girl to the stage! Said birthday girl drags “the posse” of girl friends with her. And oh, what fun. I love to dance. Music lifts me right out of the world where we are all firmly planted, and I escape into the rhythm, music and vibe. And that was where I was delightfully lost when a man took my hand and helped me off the stage.
Then I found myself standing face-to-face with my EX-HUSBAND! No shit! I can’t make this kind of tragic crap up. He is saying something. My friends are staring and starting to think…who’s the guy? (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I pull my ex away from the speakers to hear what in the world he would want to say to me at the very bar where he spent an outrageous amount of our money drinking while he was cheating on me and tearing our marriage to shreds. But I am hopelessly curious (and stupid).
Yep, you guessed it. I got the “I really, really miss you. I always loved you” drunken-goo-goo-eyed pick-up line. I was speechless. If you know me, “speechless” is very, very, very rare. I stuttered. My knees felt weak. I shouted over the band, “Where is your wife?” He didn’t answer. He just repeated the line about missing me and loving me. I took a breath, regrouped my courage, and resorted to a one-liner to cover up my devastation. “Of course you miss me, I am fabulous.” I walked off.
Don’t be impressed. I immediately marched outside, where it took me 20 minutes, two friends, a strong drink, 2 cigarettes, and a face full of streaming tears to get my ass ready to return to the dance floor. When I returned to the dance floor, I closed my eyes and let the music carry me away.
What is remarkable about this story is that it is not remarkable at all. This happens to people all the time.
The week before, my ex-lover showed up at STUFF during our Wings of Hope event to say “hello”. He had been driving by and thought it would be a good idea to stop and catch me in front of my store (where I can’t walk away). And then he came back a second time to bring me food he had been cooking all day with his wife, kids and close family friends.
And, if that wasn’t enough, two years ago at the holidays I was dating a man (who chose to compare me to “new car smell” and classify me as “one of his obsessions” on Facebook after I asked for a break). This man has called, emailed and come to the store multiple times over the last few weeks looking for me. At least he offered help and shopped.
These men that I shared my heart, my mind, my body, and a small part of my soul with never once stopped to think about me. Not once. They just marched all over my personal space, my feelings, and my life. They showed no respect for me, my family, or my business. I don’t seek them out. I haven’t played games. I haven’t posted veiled (or direct) references on Facebook about them. I have left them alone.
“The holidays” make men and women want to couple. I get it. I feel its powerful pull every day in November and December, too. After the first week of January it fades, and I fall back into my natural state. I too want to fall in love again. I want a husband and a big crazy combined mess of a family. But, in the meantime, I want to avoid stomping on the very people that I cared for deeply…and I want to avoid them stomping all over me.
These ridiculous happenings have left me sad, frustrated, exposed, raw and lonely. But, they have also left me proud that I have the courage to stand alone, even when I don’t want too.
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I started wearing reading glasses about a year ago. And I have noticed I have been wearing more and more jewelry at one time lately. Do you think when I grow up I can be as bold and beautiful as Iris Apfel?
I started wearing reading glasses about a year ago. And I have noticed I have been wearing more and more jewelry at one time lately. Do you think when I grow up I can be as bold and beautiful as Iris Apfel?
I scanned this photo from the October 2009 issue of American Style Magazine.
Iris Apfel is an amazing woman that you can read more about in the New York Times here.
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I have loved saris for years. I’ve even wanted to own one …
I have loved saris for years. I’ve even wanted to own one and wear it. And for more than costume parties. I think this may be my true style. The authentic Sloane.
Tonight I went trolling on Google and Pinterest for images and was befuddled. All the women shown looked like hoochie mamas.
The woman to your left has not spent day one in India, I’m pretty sure. She’d be laughed off the continent.
Where’s the woman who was at Costco a few days ago that I followed down the main aisle totally mesmerized by her grace?
She walked at a full stride – on shorter legs than mine, which made my gait a bit crumpled as I walked behind her – and never once fussed with her clothes. She was older than me, darker skinned than me, sporting the most amazingly mixed shades of watermelon and salmon, and wearing not very attractive sandals, but I was in the throws of a full-on girl crush. I was a stalker, if only for a few minutes.
And then, tonight I found her again as she lives in my mind’s eye. Right here on my screen:
Isn’t she incredible? What’s not to love?
p.s. “Hoochie mama” is a coined phrase I lifted from my sister Casey. Make of it what you will, but know that she cracks me up. Here are a few more hoochie mamas.
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Today I stooped to a new low, even for myself.
Today I stooped to a new low, even for myself. I answered – and sent on! – a chain letter via the Internet. But only to eight people, who I’m sure now think seriously less of me. In my defense, it came from a reliable and trusted source, and the message was sincere and did not involve a scheme of any flavor.
I had not sent one of these since I folded six letters in the 7th grade and sent them on with quarters taped to them. I was going to be rich. The letter said so.
I told my 12-year-old self – when the money failed to roll in – that I would never do that again. I asked myself, “How could you be so stupid?”
My 46-year-old self answers, “because you followed your heart and threw caution to the wind.” This wiser me remembers recently thinking, “I’ll never do Facebook. Who has time for that? Pinterest? There’s not enough hours in the day for crazy, frivolous things.”
Now, at the end of a busy day before a very busy weekend, I have logged out of Facebook, finished pinning in Pinterest, and received two – count them two! – responses from the recipients of my first chain letter in 34 years.
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On achingly beautiful days – days full of falling leaves, crisp air and sunshine – cancer lives with us. It doesn’t present itself, it just waits for us to find it.
On achingly beautiful days – days full of falling leaves, crisp air and sunshine – cancer lives with us. It doesn’t present itself, it just waits for us to find it.
On such a day not many days ago – with his cancer apparently on the run – our father met with two tumors that didn’t play with the team on the first go-round of chemotherapy. It was a day mixed with a little bit to celebrate and a whole lot to continue to deal with and worry about. Our dad needed a mental and emotional break from cancer – we all did – before starting his next therapies. He will now have to wait longer for that much needed break.
We at STUFF spend months preparing for our holiday open house – Wings of Hope – every year. This year, November 5th and 6th will be the days at STUFF that are meant to remind us that when one of us has cancer, we all have cancer. The days will be full of laughter, tears, food, drink, smiles and friendship.
Wings of Hope is special to us: we remember our family and friends lost to cancer, we re-commit to our fight to find a cure, and we thank the universe for keeping our parents – both cancer survivors – standing with us on these special days.
We hope you will join us at Wings of Hope and shop. We will proudly donate a part of your purchase to benefit cancer research at the KU Cancer Center. Our friend Susan Henke Miller showed us the way years ago – to keep cancer on the run we need piles and piles of research.
It has been the loss of friends and family and the battles in and outside of our tribe that have taught us that we can’t stop looking for cures and treatments.
Join us this weekend at Wings of Hope. Together, on these two special days – and every day – we can help find a much needed cure for all cancers.
Sisters, Co-owners and Believers in Hope
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For well over 30 years, I have driven past Bothwell Lodge and told myself – and my occasional fellow passenger – that I would visit some day.
For well over 30 years, I have driven past Bothwell Lodge and told myself – and my occasional fellow passenger – that I would visit some day. There was never time to stop on my mad dashes to my father’s lake house and its peaceful embrace. My return home on the Sunday nights of my past found me looking at it from the highway knowing it was locked up tight and holding firmly to its visitor hours.
Today was the day, however. We have had an amazingly lovely fall in Missouri, and a destination is always a good thing when you take off on a day trip with the ones you love. Even after sleeping in, the Bothwell Lodge was in our sights by 12:30 pm.
A friend of mine commented on Facebook, when I posted a few pictures, that he always imagined the King and Queen of Missouri lived there during his trips through this region in Mid-Missouri. The lodge does make that impression from the highway, but, when you get around to the other side, it looks like a large but quaint home. We took the tour from a young and informed tour guide who didn’t have to tell us that Mr. Bothwell wasn’t big on interior decoration. The furnishings were spare and ran to the utilitarian in most rooms. There were things to ooh and aah over – like the scale of the rooms, the wood used throughout the house, and the breathtaking views. The details in the home were what constantly caught my eye.
The best thing about today was being with the two people who love a road trip as much as I do: my son and my husband. We all needed a quick trip out of the city, and this fall day was perfection.
p.s. The Bothwell Lodge is a State Historic Site, and the grounds are even sparser than the interiors. Today the trees and their colorful bounty provided all the pomp and circumstance. We, however, provided the circus acts on the lawn.
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Personally I am tired of cancer taking amazing people from me and from our glorious world. Steve Jobs’ passing makes me sad, but it also pisses me off.
Personally I am tired of cancer taking amazing people from me and from our glorious world.
Steve Jobs’ passing makes me sad, but it also pisses me off. And I think this is a good thing. Because it will, once again, renew my passion for being part of finding a cure for all cancers.
My grandmother died from cancer, my mother has survived cancer more than once, my father is in Houston right now undergoing chemotherapy for cancer, and this week I have deeply needed one of my business mentors that died a couple of years ago from cancer.
That’s it. Cancer has got to go. That is why today I am going to make a donation to The Susan Henke Miller Breast Cancer Research Fund (the same charity our annual event Wings of Hope supports) in honor of Steve Jobs.
I don’t want to feel powerless today. I want to feel empowered and inspired by Steve’s legacy. Owning his inventions are not enough for me today. I want to kick back at the loss that cancer has brought us all.
Until there is a cure….
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On this, the last day before Autumn officially begins and my favorite season ends, I wanted to share a blog I wrote in August of 2007. I can still see the evening vividly, and the memories are overpowering.
On this, the last day before Autumn officially begins and my favorite season ends, I wanted to share a blog I wrote in August of 2007. I can still see the evening vividly, and the memories are overpowering.
Enjoy. Here it is.
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