I have been trying not to get on my soap box for over a week. Besides, I can start to sound like a zealot when I get too focused. Not anyone’s best trait.
I’ve spent 15 years building a business with my sister that – at its core – is dedicated to hand-crafted items by local artists. When we started, we didn’t allow people to take photographs of pieces in the store, because we were so overly protective of the artists and their labors. We had convinced ourselves that anyone wanting a picture was just being devious and was going to run home to their studio – where they hadn’t had a fresh idea in months – and incorporate someone else’s talent into their work.
Then the advent of the internet hit, and we loosened our collars. We let photos and uploads happen right on the floor of our store while we watched. We argued with ourselves that sharing artistic endeavors and ideas is good and that we would all rise from the swell of creativity.
At the same time, we watched friends have their ideas lifted and twisted into art by someone else. We sat dumbfounded as a friend in the design trade had whole designs for his furniture “stolen” by a large company and manufactured without a “how do you do” to the parent.
Nine years ago, I stopped shopping at Walmart because I had watched it wreak havoc in small towns all around Missouri. I had seen bucolic towns decimated by a lack of trade on their Main Streets. I also watched as that massive company signed licensing deals with small companies and, when the party was over, leave that company stripped bare of its ability to do business on a smaller scale for many reasons.
Over 3 years ago, I stopped going to Target for not quite the same reasons. Although they embrace design and the artist’s touch, they also bastardize all that is good about hand craft. They have made it their business to push American artists into licensing deals that insist on overseas production.
We must all be wary of these large companies that continue to ruin what is great about hand-crafted work. I think purchasing handmade items is essential. You can see and feel the artist’s “touch”. You can carry home the great feeling that you made a difference in the life of an artist by buying their work. You can rest assured that you are continuing to fortify the experience of making a living while making things with your hands and your mind.
I have two friends, Patricia Shackelford and Shelly DeMotte Kramer, that I follow on Facebook and their personal blogs, and in the past month they both posted concerns – either that they authored or shared in the ether – in and around this very issue. You can see the articles they featured here and here. After reading them, I knew I wasn’t alone in my battle and in my beliefs. I felt my blood rise. I felt my ire beating in my veins.
I felt myself getting ready to jump on my high horse. But for all the right reasons.
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And I’m the one that can’t stop crying. Every day this week has had at least one event in it that is a “last” for either my son, me or our family. He’s not just leaving his friends, I’m leaving my friends. These are men and women – all parents! – that were standing there with me 11 years ago when we sent our 3-year-olds into what seemed like a huge adventure.
Could someone please explain to me why Mother’s Day is in May? You know, that delightful month when every mother wants to rip her ever-loving hair out of her head and who mumbles as she falls into bed each night, “How many days until summer break?”
Instead, I am a mother of one little girl, one dog, and one store that I co-parent with my sister. And my life works…most days.
After surviving weeks of work, parenting, some family needs, and personal strain, I marched into Art Fair weekend in Brookside this past Friday with a smile on my face – and bags under my eyes.
I was off to work. Sloane and I are deeply committed to both AIDS Walk and our store, and it was Art Fair weekend in Brookside, darn it. We had to divide and conquer and be both places at once.
So, while Sloane and Mom had my offspring and I was at work, it managed to get super-duper fab-u-lous-ly busy. By the time my daughter came to me after the Walk, I was turning in circles while we shuffled her suitcases and clothes to get her ready for her next big adventure – an overnight! On Sunday, she was joyful at the Paul Mesner Puppets with my mother’s girlfriend – season tickets must be used! – and played with them until I could get off work finally at 6:30 pm.
We two immediately hit Bo Ling’s to celebrate surviving the weekend and to spend some quality time together without me having to cook or clean. (I love their quiet booths at times like this.) We did it! We survived the past few weeks and the endless weekend…and it wasn’t too bad. Actually, it was pretty normal for most working families with kids.
We also have to rally as a family for me to go to Texas with my dad and stepmom to meet with a doctor at MD Anderson because last month my dad was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
Sloane and I both know we are not not much different from every other mother we know. We are all crazy-busy, we are all juggling too many balls in the air, we are all confused, tired, stressed, and a bit slap happy. And we sometimes find some balance in sharing our collective craziness. The week I laid out for you is so similar to countless mothers’ weeks that, frankly, I know I am not special or unique.
This, however, is my favorite of Casey’s recent fantastic feats. She’s so far off the ground and she is relying on the ball to keep her safe. She makes it look effortless and simple.
I can only speak of the young man I’m living with right now. Well, I can only speak of all three of him.
