The STUFF Sisters

Fair Weather Fan

I am a “fan of fair weather” – as opposed to being a “fair weather fan”. Being a “fan of fair weather” means I spend winter dreading getting out of the house. It means I bitch incessantly when putting on boots. It means I have to go back into the house four f-ing times to get everything I can’t seem to get the first trip to the garage, since my vision is blocked by the four tons of crap I have to wear to get from the house to the garage so my teeth won’t chatter upon opening the door to leave.

Yesterday morning’s light snow and 17 degree weather was not welcomed by me. However, my Bernese mountain dog and my daughter were both thrilled and spent an hour outside playing and waiting for me to get my act together.

Casey

I May Need an Intervention

Oh crap. I’ve turned into one of those people who can’t throw away a poinsettia plant in May when the lack of watering and general bad air in the office has ruined whatever lustre there was to the plant. When it’s down to three leaves and woody stems.

Correlation to the ponsettia issue: What you see before you is a petunia plant I finally put to rest this morning. I have great pangs in my heart throwing a blooming plant in the yard waste bag. I’ve even caught myself, in years past, saying the despised word “goodbye” to an annual plant as I shut the top of the bag. What’s up with that?

Since early this May, I passed this petunia plant – and its birdbath brethren – multiple times every day as I entered and exited the house. The joy and general spirit that “The Wave Petunia” brings to my world every year is tantamount to my general sunny disposition. It was on my way to the car yesterday that it came to me why I had trouble sending this one to the compost pile. The other plants my son and I planted with this petunia had long since been trimmed back and/or removed. But this purple wonder had given me everything it had and, like me, it was not giving in easily to the cold weather and bitter air. It was going to bloom as long and hard as it could. (The only parallel I can draw to myself is that I only started wearing socks with my shoes early this week.)

I’ve cleaned out the birdbath planter and put it away until next spring. I’ve washed all my socks and purchased tights. I’m currently embracing the holiday spirit and have welcomed the brisk and cold air as I take my walks. I’m happy.

But I miss the little touch of purple moving ever so slightly in the warm, sunny breeze.

Sloane

PS…I’ve never been a fan of poinsettias. I probably never will be, and we don’t have them in our home. They just aren’t my thing. However, I know they bring great joy. I’m at peace with that.

Fearless Ability

I envy my niece her artistic talent. Yep. I’m 45 and she’s 5 and I envy her this trait.

Several weeks ago, while she was at stuff for all of 5.3 seconds between activities, she found a balloon left over from Wings of Hope, blew it up, had me tie it, and disappeared into the office I share with Casey.

Then she left the building.

When I got to my desk an hour or so later, the face in this photo was staring down at me, and I can’t take it down from its perch. The balloon will have to give up the ghost before I ever remove it. She has the ability to just sit with pen and paper – or balloon – and start drawing. She is prolific and fearless. For this I envy her.

When I get over the selfish envy, I will be able to learn from her.

Sloane

Whispers

It started just this past weekend, the holiday social season for my husband and me. I always enjoy it very much.

Except the one part that crept in several years ago: the whispered and sad timbre that people employ when asking me about my business when in public. It always makes me remember the scenes in movies and on TV that depict the 50s and 60s when people whispered the word “cancer” and glanced from side to side to make sure no one heard them.

Now this is one forecaset I can live with!

The business that I co-own with my sister is, of course, susceptible to the economy and its whims. All businesses are. But there is something about retail and how it is used as a forecasting tool in the media – for what seems like every economic indicator that is reported on – that makes people feel like they need to be quiet when speaking to us.

So, let me tell you how it works from our side. Running our business, as we approach the holidays, is like preparing for a party in your home. You clean everything so that people won’t think you live like a pig. (We do that.) You preparing an enticingly beautiful and delicious array of food and drink. (We do that, but with local and handmade art.) And you sit back and anxiously hope that all your favorite people show up to enjoy a great time in the magic you’ve created. (We do that, too.)

This past weekend – as in years past – I answered in my regular voice as these quiet questions found me. I am not asked these questions every year because people want to hear a horror story full of troubles and hardship. At least I don’t think so. Goodness gracious, we’re at a party!! My responses have helped those around me to remember that my sister and I delight in what we do and find great joy in supporting local artists. We have built an award-winning business based on ethical practices and honesty. We’ve even opened our online store and stocked it with the same incredible things you can find by walking in to our store in Brookside. As I answer these questions, I remind the friends who have posed them that we just turned 14 years old and are enjoying our teenage years this time around.

All year long we forecast, budget, train, order, clean, count and worry. Thinking we may already know the answer, but are too scared to place hope at the forefront and jinx it, we whisper to each other early each December, “Do you think anyone will come?”

Sloane

PS…Photo credit goes to House Beautiful.

Hopeless

Casey's faves from the December 2010 show at STUFF.

I am hopelessly in love with jewelry. It wouldn’t be fair to say I have a favorite jewelry artist, since looking at my dresser top filled with a mess of this past week’s choices tossed in a clump – all a jumble – reveals that I clearly don’t play favorites.

I will say, however, that Jes MaHarry is a remarkable artist. Her work speaks to me.

I believe she is one of America’s finest craftspeople. I believe her work will be studied, written about, collected and shown for many generations to come.

And I know that none of that matters. Because it is clear to me that Jes was called to create each piece as strongly as I was called to discover the ones that I own. It is in this connection that I find the beauty of collecting her work.

Casey

Thankful for the Dream

Two little girls, many years ago, decided to play office. They set up shop right there in the warmth and security of their grandparents’ basement. They had everything they needed: phones, paper, pencils and support staff.

Casey (left) and Sloane (right) at work in the office, circa 1971.

Our grandmother played along with our every fantasy and grand scheme. Some days our office was just for “plain business” and sometimes it was the back room of a very busy restaurant or store. Whatever it was, it was awesome.

But it wasn’t real.

What we have now is real, but it’s still two girls – women if you must – having the times of their lives. We’re looking back, as we always do at Thanksgiving, and we are counting our lucky stars in an economy that hasn’t been kind to all of our friends in small business. We haven’t laid a single person off – in fact, we’ve hired and trained new people. We haven’t reduced salaries – in fact, we’ve invested in training our employees for more responsilbilities. And we’ve added more local artists to our mix – which only strengthens our local economy.

We like to think all of these goals and dreams started years ago in a basement in Mid-Missouri. They may have, but we’ve handed over the outcome of that dream to our customers.

We hope you can come and shop at the most amazing store that’s just chock full of treasures. We need you like we always do, and we can never thank you enough for believing in the dream of two little girls.

Have a happy Thanksgiving and glorious holidays.

casey & sloane simmons
sisters & co-owners

Leaving Mid-Missouri

The tethers that held me to the middle part of Missouri, my home state, totally broke last Friday. They’ve been straining as the family has contracted with each funeral, home sale, downsizing and move. Starting five years ago, I have no longer had reasons to visit Boonville or Jefferson City. And, as of last week, Sunrise Beach joined their ranks.

With frequent visits to these towns came knowledge of places like Jamestown, Pilot Grove, Stover, Bay, Bahner and Sandy Hook. And back roads in which memorization of every twist and turn began when I was very, very young and my parents were driving. Then, when I finally took control of the wheel, I began to believe I could drive certain patches of that blacktop with my eyes closed. I had travelled them so many times, and they were such a part of me. I knew when to speed up, when a curve really called for you to slow down, and where the “flat sections” were so that you could pass the combine or trailered boat in front of you.

Roads like 87 and 179. M and 135. 65 and V. These were what I took when I left the infernal interstate and began to really see Missouri. These were the roads that took me to my family.

On Friday, I cleaned out my belongings from my father’s lake house. After 20-plus years, he’s pulling up stakes and heading to southern pastures and a little less maintenance. I can’t say I blame him – houses are a lot of work. And what do I really know? I only own one.

My friend Patricia recently moved from her home here in Kansas City. From her dream home, actually. She mentioned in her blog that, in the end, she wasn’t as sad as she thought she’d be because she was taking the best things about the house with her – her family. I clung to that concept as I drove through the all-day rainstorm to collect my things. I needed it to be true. I didn’t want to walk in with my to do list and my short timeline and be sideswiped by the memories of my sister Lindsay, my dad’s parents, and my sister Casey’s dog, Buttercup. I needed them all to leave me alone so that I could clean under the sink and at the back of the closet, then load the car and skeedaddle.

I almost made it.

I was dry-eyed for a majority of the time there. My father and stepmom had been down two times before me and had already packed up the memories housed in picture frames, the keepsakes from every nook and cranny, and the “must-haves” that had been placed in the garage. I was fine until I came across, on a high shelf in our communal closet, a birthday card from my grandparents to my husband. There is not a date on it, but it was clearly ready to have been mailed because it is completely addressed – with a return address as well. It was a card that had no pre-printed message of birthday wishes. My grandmother had written the entire sentiment on the inside and signed both names. We must have decided, all those years ago, to get together at the lake for Harl’s birthday at the last minute, and the card was delivered by hand. It was a glory to behold, and I held it very tightly until I released it into the packing box.

My friend was right. The best parts of any house are lodged in your mind and you carry them with you. They don’t require cardboard boxes, packing tape or moving vans. They only ask that you visit them occasionally.

So in the future I’ll probably take 87 to 179, turn left on M and then right on 135. My memories of all of these places will be right where 65 meets V. I’ll know it when I see it. Actually, I’ll feel it way before it comes into view.

Sloane

Sing-Along

The past few weeks, I have been listening to – and haunted by – a song from Wynonna Judd titled “Flies On The Butter”. It is a masterpiece of country music, not only in the story line but in her amazing and lyrical voice. So many of the pictures she paints with the words are like looking into my own childhood – grandparents who loved you, food that was always made to be special, and time standing still.

I put a close friend on the spot a month or so ago when I asked her – should I die an untimely death – to please sing this song at my funeral. I invited her to work out all the details with my husband because, although I was dealing with a few musical items in advance, I would not be around to implement them. She gave me a quizzical look, possibly thinking I was joking, and then the light changed in her eyes and she said, “OK.”

I have always been a wee bit in love with our girl Wynonna. Wynonna Judd You see, she sings in my key, so our duets are outstanding and acoustically perfect inside the walls of my car. The songs she sang with her mother while a member of The Judds are good, but it’s the magic Wynonna has made since striking out on her own that lives in my soul.

Sloane

Photo Booth

I think photo booths are one of the best inventions on the planet. It is impossible to not have fun in a photo booth. And, when you have unlimited access to one for a great cause, it’s even more fantastic.

Photo Booth Set 1

There used to be a shop in New York City’s Greenwich Village that had a black-and-white photo booth (my favorite). I always made time to visit and, on the rare occasion it wasn’t working, I would be crushed. I will search for some old strips in my scrapbooks. But, in the meantime, here are some picks from the ACLU’s The Art of Expression party last week.

Photo Booth Set 2

Photo Booth Set 3

Next time you have a chance to jump in a photo booth – do it! I promise it will put a smile on your face.

Casey

Rare Behavior

Casey and I look at so many things in the course of our work. Things. Stuff. And lots of it….

Casey and I look at so many things in the course of our work. Things. Stuff. And lots of it. We meet with artists and view their pieces. We look at catalogues. We look at websites. We get PILES of mail every day with beautiful photos of lovely things. Lovely things I’d love to own and also share with our customers. That’s how being a retailer works: you like it, you offer it to others.

When I saw these in Town & Country magazine my heart zinged. So many things about these amazing earrings stand in direct opposition to my “personal purchasing restrictions”. Like I have never heard of this artist. And I’m pretty sure the pieces are produced in quantities of more than one (and I am a one-of-a-kind girl). Plus, I’m a “clip” girl and these reek of “pierced”.

But I may exhibit rare behavior and hunt these suckers down and see just what I can’t afford!!

Sloane