I now realize that it's actually quite difficult for me to keep up a reasonable blog during my show season. I don't know why I thought I could. I mean, I'm just way too busy trying to keep up with making chain and selling it.
Fortunately I have a few months off each and every year to try to get ahead, which also means that I have more time to write.
Today I want to tell you a story about someone I met at my booth. He was a busker. And for some reason, probably because he saw me interacting with my customers, he decided to ask me about busking in Victoria.
Oh, quick aside: They're customers. Sure, some are clients, some are friends, but they are also customers. I have no problem with that word. "A person that buys goods." In fact, not only don't I have a problem with that word, I actually hope that some of them live up to it!
Ok. Back to my regularly scheduled story.
He came by my booth and waited until I was free. Nice of him to do that.
He introduced himself, and said that he was new in town. "Obviously", he said, "you know the city better than I do." Little did he realize that I'd only been here a few years myself. Where, he was wondering, was a good place to busk?
Busking, as I'm sure you know, dear reader, is performing on the street for money.
Well, I've done my share of busking in the past, and some places are better than others. But some places are better for some types of busking, and others places for other types. And so I asked him what he did in his act.
"I do tricks with a yo-yo." I was polite and let the obvious comeback slip by unsaid.
"Can you show me", I inquired.
And he did.
Now, dear reader, a number of years ago I had the dubious pleasure of watching the world's most boring fire-eater perform. How, you may wonder, can you possibly make fire-eating boring? Well, he did. No facial expressions. No patter. No timing. Just one feat with fire after another, monotonously. Ad nauseum. If I didn't know better, I would have bet that the nerve endings in his face had been severed.
When he was finished I asked him if I could work with him the next day.
"Sure", he said, with about as much inflection as an accountant who has been sedated.
The following afternoon I was wearing totally stupid looking blue clown clothes and poorly applied clown make-up. When he went to swallow his fire, I got out a seltzer bottle and squirted water down my throat. When he went to juggle his torches, I juggled water balloons, carefully dropping one at the most propitious moment. When he put the petrol in his mouth and blew flames, I sprayed the audience with water from my own mouth. Whatever he did with fire, I did with water. I was the water-eater to his fire-eater. And wow, did we do well.
I explained to my yo-yo dude that most of street performance, as with sales, is about the patter, the glib gab, the slip of the word with the slip of the tongue. I pointed out that he needed an intimate space, that people weren't going to see his tricks from more than ten feet away. It was obvious that while he was proficient with the double disc on a string, he was woefully underwhelming with the wordage.
And I could see that he was beginning to falter. He needed encouragement. A start. Something that he could build on.
"Look", I said, "you're Jewish."
"Whoa," he interrupted, "how did you know?"
"Your pendant," I pointed out, "your hair. Your schnoz? It's not that difficult to see. So go with that. Remind the people that the yo-yo is a Jewish invention."
He looked at me as if realizing for the first time that I might just be a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
"It is?"
"Of course it is. Don't you know that Hebrew is read from right to left? It's actually called an 'oy-oy'."
He started to crack a smile.
"And you just came up with that on the spot?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Best I could do under the pressure."
And with that, he went on his way, eager to try one of the corners I recommended. From what I heard, he actually did quite well the rest of the season.
Now, what does this have to with chain-mail? Simple. It's not just about the product. It's about the art. The performance. The salesmanship. The relationship. People can find your product elsewhere, sometimes for less, sometimes better quality. But they can't find you anywhere else. When you're selling your work, your also selling them a memory of you.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
What Happened to Art?
Years ago, say back in late 19th century, many people were craftsmen. They created things with their hands, were proud of their accomplishments, and were somewhat respected in society for it. But then something happened; society changed. We began to look down on the craftsmen, praising instead the intelligentsia, encouraging all our children to get a college education and work in the field of the intellect. We only need to think of the lowly plumber or grease-stained auto mechanic to see the truth of this.
Way back when Henry Ford began developing his assembly line form of auto manufacturing, he had to hire ten times the number of workers he actually needed. Why? Because 90% of them would quit.
But why?
Simple. They were bored.
The people he would hire were artisans, craftsmen, people who were highly skilled in their field and who took pride in their work. These were people who would take a tree and turn it into a wagon. Well, maybe not. I'm sure many of them went to the lumberyard and used boards, but you get the idea. They were not the sort of people who enjoyed making the same widget over and over, day after day, week after week, with no reprieve in sight. They were far more interested in crafting and creating the whole wagon, responding to the peculiar qualities of each individual piece of wood, moving from one part to another as needed, keeping their interest by fabricating an entire object, not just one tiny little component over and over again, ad nauseum.
Within a few years, though, all that changed.
There were no, or at least few, master craftsmen left. Those who were educated in the new public school programs that were designed at that time never knew the satisfaction of a beautiful creation, from raw materials to completed product. They were trained to work in factories. Society had told them that this is what life was meant to be like, and they believed it, and their craft was relegated to the realm of hobby. Their salary was merely compensation for having to put up with the boredom of their work, no longer seen as a reward for a creating a work of lasting, or at least functional, art.
We went from a society of creative artisans who would look at each and every individual problem and strive to find a creative way around it to a group of people who were trained and taught to follow instructions from a collective think-tank of managers who had likely never built anything in their life. These new managers didn't see the art in the product their company made, but rather merely the broad lines: how to streamline the assembly line, and ways to fatten the bottom line.
These new managers and factory owners don't want creativity in their workers but instead hire people for their ability to take a set of instructions and problem-solve by looking up the correct page reference in their corporate-approved manual. Even the companies that strive to encourage their workers in making their job more efficient are often ham-stringing their employees by taking their suggestions and either filtering them up for approval and back down again as another paragraph in their manual, or giving a token reward of a few dollars while upper management reaps in millions. Either way, the lowly worker is no longer seen as one worthy of respect, but rather as a, well, lowly worker who is expected to follow the rules.
As Frederick Wilson Taylor said, "...(M)anagers assume... the burden of gathering together all of the traditional knowledge which in the past has been possessed by the workmen and then of classifying, tabulating, and reducing this knowledge to rules, laws, and formulae." The founders of the MBA program at Harvard loved this, as did Joseph Stalin.
In short, process replaced craft.
"All possible brainwork", Taylor went on to say, "should be removed from the shop and centered in the planning or laying-out department..."
And that brings me to today, and my work with chain-mail.
Over and over I see on the internet, or hear from mailers who stop by my booth, "Am I doing it right?"
That very question presupposes that instruction manual approach. Just the other day I had a friend over who had begun to make a bracelet and was talking of taking it apart because it wasn't what he wanted. "It's no good", he said. "It's not JPL-5."
"So? Who said that you had to make JPL-5? What you have made is beautiful, and worthy of finishing. Why waste the time taking it apart? Why not just finish it?" He was surprised, and possibly even ashamed, that he hadn't recognized that himself. He had fallen into that trap, even though he knew better.
"Is it ok to use this?" "Can I do that?" "Where are the instructions for this?"
While these may be reasonable questions for a rank beginner, I feel that they should be discouraged. Instead of answering them with a dichotomous yes or no, we should, perhaps, respond with a more educational, "What happens if you do use this or do that?" "Look at that item. Can you figure out how to make it? Here are the ring sizes, to give you a head start."
Just this morning I was asked to make a few flowers to go around a beautiful metal hummingbird on someone's wall. I asked them the colour of the room, about the view from the window, and the size of the space on the wall around the hummingbird. They had seen some of my small flowers and thought they might look nice with the bird, but I happen to know that hummingbirds don't feed on those types of daisy-shaped flowers. And those flowers, in relation to that bird, are way too small. They make the hummingbird look to be the size of an eagle. I'll make a few of them, as requested, to match the room, but my pride in my work forces me to create a more conical larger flower, one that a hummingbird enthusiast will recognize as relevant to the scene. Has one been made before? Not that I'm aware of. Do I have instructions? Nope. But I have materials. I have my inspiration. I have a vision. And I have perseverance. While I hope to get it done by tomorrow morning, it may or may not happen. But I will have made a start, can show them what I have, and hopefully create something new and beautiful which they will love, and of which I will be proud.
Will it be "right"?
No.
It will be a work of art, like all my work. And all of yours, too, if you only allow yourself to see it that way.
Way back when Henry Ford began developing his assembly line form of auto manufacturing, he had to hire ten times the number of workers he actually needed. Why? Because 90% of them would quit.
But why?
Simple. They were bored.
The people he would hire were artisans, craftsmen, people who were highly skilled in their field and who took pride in their work. These were people who would take a tree and turn it into a wagon. Well, maybe not. I'm sure many of them went to the lumberyard and used boards, but you get the idea. They were not the sort of people who enjoyed making the same widget over and over, day after day, week after week, with no reprieve in sight. They were far more interested in crafting and creating the whole wagon, responding to the peculiar qualities of each individual piece of wood, moving from one part to another as needed, keeping their interest by fabricating an entire object, not just one tiny little component over and over again, ad nauseum.
Within a few years, though, all that changed.
There were no, or at least few, master craftsmen left. Those who were educated in the new public school programs that were designed at that time never knew the satisfaction of a beautiful creation, from raw materials to completed product. They were trained to work in factories. Society had told them that this is what life was meant to be like, and they believed it, and their craft was relegated to the realm of hobby. Their salary was merely compensation for having to put up with the boredom of their work, no longer seen as a reward for a creating a work of lasting, or at least functional, art.
We went from a society of creative artisans who would look at each and every individual problem and strive to find a creative way around it to a group of people who were trained and taught to follow instructions from a collective think-tank of managers who had likely never built anything in their life. These new managers didn't see the art in the product their company made, but rather merely the broad lines: how to streamline the assembly line, and ways to fatten the bottom line.
These new managers and factory owners don't want creativity in their workers but instead hire people for their ability to take a set of instructions and problem-solve by looking up the correct page reference in their corporate-approved manual. Even the companies that strive to encourage their workers in making their job more efficient are often ham-stringing their employees by taking their suggestions and either filtering them up for approval and back down again as another paragraph in their manual, or giving a token reward of a few dollars while upper management reaps in millions. Either way, the lowly worker is no longer seen as one worthy of respect, but rather as a, well, lowly worker who is expected to follow the rules.
As Frederick Wilson Taylor said, "...(M)anagers assume... the burden of gathering together all of the traditional knowledge which in the past has been possessed by the workmen and then of classifying, tabulating, and reducing this knowledge to rules, laws, and formulae." The founders of the MBA program at Harvard loved this, as did Joseph Stalin.
In short, process replaced craft.
"All possible brainwork", Taylor went on to say, "should be removed from the shop and centered in the planning or laying-out department..."
And that brings me to today, and my work with chain-mail.
Over and over I see on the internet, or hear from mailers who stop by my booth, "Am I doing it right?"
That very question presupposes that instruction manual approach. Just the other day I had a friend over who had begun to make a bracelet and was talking of taking it apart because it wasn't what he wanted. "It's no good", he said. "It's not JPL-5."
"So? Who said that you had to make JPL-5? What you have made is beautiful, and worthy of finishing. Why waste the time taking it apart? Why not just finish it?" He was surprised, and possibly even ashamed, that he hadn't recognized that himself. He had fallen into that trap, even though he knew better.
"Is it ok to use this?" "Can I do that?" "Where are the instructions for this?"
While these may be reasonable questions for a rank beginner, I feel that they should be discouraged. Instead of answering them with a dichotomous yes or no, we should, perhaps, respond with a more educational, "What happens if you do use this or do that?" "Look at that item. Can you figure out how to make it? Here are the ring sizes, to give you a head start."
Just this morning I was asked to make a few flowers to go around a beautiful metal hummingbird on someone's wall. I asked them the colour of the room, about the view from the window, and the size of the space on the wall around the hummingbird. They had seen some of my small flowers and thought they might look nice with the bird, but I happen to know that hummingbirds don't feed on those types of daisy-shaped flowers. And those flowers, in relation to that bird, are way too small. They make the hummingbird look to be the size of an eagle. I'll make a few of them, as requested, to match the room, but my pride in my work forces me to create a more conical larger flower, one that a hummingbird enthusiast will recognize as relevant to the scene. Has one been made before? Not that I'm aware of. Do I have instructions? Nope. But I have materials. I have my inspiration. I have a vision. And I have perseverance. While I hope to get it done by tomorrow morning, it may or may not happen. But I will have made a start, can show them what I have, and hopefully create something new and beautiful which they will love, and of which I will be proud.
Will it be "right"?
No.
It will be a work of art, like all my work. And all of yours, too, if you only allow yourself to see it that way.
Friday, July 10, 2015
Memory
Summer is my busy time. This means that I end up writing about one article every month, if I'm lucky, as opposed to my usual two or three a week in the winter months. It's not that I can't think of anything to write; quite the contrary. There is a lot to write about. It's just that by the time I get home, unpack the car and get a bit of food or water in me, I'm completely exhausted. I've wholly forgotten all the ideas that flit through my mind during the day. Gone. Pfft. Even if I write them down in my notebook, I still can't remember to think about that notebook when I arrive home.
But writing isn't the only thing that suffers from my lack of memory at this time of year.
Of course, there is the usual parenting issue of calling the child by the pets names, or forgetting where I put the keys. There are the odds and ends that end up oddly in the freezer for no explicable reason. And there are the countless times I end up remarkably dog-like, walking into a room and having no clue why I went in there in the first place.
Memory is one of the major casualties in the summer.
Of course, it's not just me.
Yesterday, at the market, one of my neighbours came up to me and asked me if I had an extra table cloth. It seemed that somehow he had left his at home. Of course, it just so happened that another neighbour had picked up a brand new table covering for me just the week before, so yes, I did happen to have an extra one.
That was an unusual request, to be sure, but not, by far, the only one.
Over the years I have left at home things like my change float (which is the stack of small bills that I use to give change to people throughout the day), my credit card machine, various boxes of stock, all my mannequins, and even my pliers. Oh yes, even the Mobius Balls have suffered this indignant fate.
My various neighbours at the market also suffer this aestas careo memoria.
There have been many days when a friend leaves a pile of boxes at their booth site only to run back home to get some essential thing. I've seen people try to set up their booth, having left their tents, tables, or various display items at home. One of my favorites are the times when someone has set up their tent, hung all their items from it, placed all of their stock ever so carefully where it all belongs, and then discover that they forgot to put their banner on said tent. It is quite amusing watching as they try to find various ways to hang their banners without lowering their tent. Being taller than most there, I offer to help, but it's still fun to watch.
The best of all, though, was my own sad story. There was one time that I got in the car and headed out to work, bright and early, ready to face the morning traffic into downtown. It was sunny and there were some good tunes on the radio. It was looking to be a great day. The temperature was just right for that wee hour, signaling weather that would be perfect, neither too swelteringly hot nor too cool for comfort, with just a gentle hint of a breeze for good measure. I made it downtown without too much difficulty, a little bit of traffic, a few minor snarls. I got caught behind an ancient bicyclist on the bridge, and had to wait for this seemingly one-legged arthritic tortoise to get across, not being allowed to pass cyclists on that particular bridge. Then there was the garbage truck in the alley, so I had to wait for them, too. Of course, these guys were particularly virtuous, striving to demonstrate excellence in a job well-done. They took extra care to ensure that the garbage was placed ever so carefully in the back of the truck, and even more care to place the bins back exactly where they had been. They were something like world champions of the OCD refuse collection olympics. Finally, I was able to pull in, and back up to the place where I unload. With my daily sigh of relief at getting there intact and in a somewhat timely manner, I got out of the car, walked around to the back, and popped the trunk.
Only to discover that I hadn't loaded it before leaving home.
But writing isn't the only thing that suffers from my lack of memory at this time of year.
Of course, there is the usual parenting issue of calling the child by the pets names, or forgetting where I put the keys. There are the odds and ends that end up oddly in the freezer for no explicable reason. And there are the countless times I end up remarkably dog-like, walking into a room and having no clue why I went in there in the first place.
Memory is one of the major casualties in the summer.
Of course, it's not just me.
Yesterday, at the market, one of my neighbours came up to me and asked me if I had an extra table cloth. It seemed that somehow he had left his at home. Of course, it just so happened that another neighbour had picked up a brand new table covering for me just the week before, so yes, I did happen to have an extra one.
That was an unusual request, to be sure, but not, by far, the only one.
Over the years I have left at home things like my change float (which is the stack of small bills that I use to give change to people throughout the day), my credit card machine, various boxes of stock, all my mannequins, and even my pliers. Oh yes, even the Mobius Balls have suffered this indignant fate.
My various neighbours at the market also suffer this aestas careo memoria.
There have been many days when a friend leaves a pile of boxes at their booth site only to run back home to get some essential thing. I've seen people try to set up their booth, having left their tents, tables, or various display items at home. One of my favorites are the times when someone has set up their tent, hung all their items from it, placed all of their stock ever so carefully where it all belongs, and then discover that they forgot to put their banner on said tent. It is quite amusing watching as they try to find various ways to hang their banners without lowering their tent. Being taller than most there, I offer to help, but it's still fun to watch.
The best of all, though, was my own sad story. There was one time that I got in the car and headed out to work, bright and early, ready to face the morning traffic into downtown. It was sunny and there were some good tunes on the radio. It was looking to be a great day. The temperature was just right for that wee hour, signaling weather that would be perfect, neither too swelteringly hot nor too cool for comfort, with just a gentle hint of a breeze for good measure. I made it downtown without too much difficulty, a little bit of traffic, a few minor snarls. I got caught behind an ancient bicyclist on the bridge, and had to wait for this seemingly one-legged arthritic tortoise to get across, not being allowed to pass cyclists on that particular bridge. Then there was the garbage truck in the alley, so I had to wait for them, too. Of course, these guys were particularly virtuous, striving to demonstrate excellence in a job well-done. They took extra care to ensure that the garbage was placed ever so carefully in the back of the truck, and even more care to place the bins back exactly where they had been. They were something like world champions of the OCD refuse collection olympics. Finally, I was able to pull in, and back up to the place where I unload. With my daily sigh of relief at getting there intact and in a somewhat timely manner, I got out of the car, walked around to the back, and popped the trunk.
Only to discover that I hadn't loaded it before leaving home.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Michael
One of my favorite mindless little past times is to look at one of the chain-mail fora on Facebook. It's a nice little community in which people share photos, tips, inspirations, and questions. Great community, too. They're very encouraging, and the moderator is one of the best I've seen in a long time. If petty bickering, or trolling, rears its ugly little head, he's quick to put a stop to it.
Jokes? He often let's them go on. He's kind of cool that way.
On this forum, there is one person, in my own mind, that sticks out: Michael. He's a bit of a kook (and since I know that people from this forum are likely reading this, he's never gonna live that title down), exceedingly generous, and someone I'm very proud to call a good friend. (Hence, I refer to him as a kook.)
But one question I get asked a lot, for some reason, is how we met. After all, there aren't that many of us chain-mailers around, and while we see each other's work on the net, many of us have never met.
Well, I got to thinking about that question the other day, and realized that it was a pretty good story.
So.....
Once upon a time (unless you're from the middle east, then it's "Under the azure dome..."), I was asked to do a chain-mail workshop at a local store. Since teaching is one of my passions in life, and chain-mail is another, combining the two seemed like a good idea. The date was set. The notices went out. The people registered, and all seemed good in my little corner of the world.
And then the day arrived. (Cue the symphonic music.)
The sun crept ever higher in the sky; the clock ticked ominously on; the vultures were circling overhead. (Actually, they were. We have a lot of vultures around here.)
Momentary light-hearted aside - One day, a few summers past, I decided to take a break and head out to nature, as I am wont to do. I drove over to Beaver Lake, a great place for a quick dip in some nice water, or a pleasant walk in the woods, whichever you choose at the moment. On that particular day, I chose the water. And soon discovered that there were tons of little kids, all about 2 - 5 years old, swimming in the shallows of the lake. And overhead? Dozens of vultures circling. Hmmm. Methinks they knew something.
And now back to our regularly scheduled story.
My son was picked up from his bus. My wife had wended her way home. I was properly fed and watered, so it was time for me to embark upon my journey.
As it was early evening, I gave myself plenty of time to fight the rush hour traffic, which on the Island is more like the "rush quarter-hour", and I successfully passed it all heading in the other direction. I forgot that I was going downtown, and they weren't. In short, I got there way too early, and had some time to wander. A cup of tea was acquired, and I scouted out a cheese shop that I had never noticed. Mmmm. Cheese.
And then made my way back to the store.
When I walked in, the proprietor looked at me a bit strange and asked, "Do you know Michael?"
Well, I know a few Michaels. In fact, one of them was best man at my wedding. But this Michael? Couldn't say that I did.
She described him as "a bit of a social misfit, extremely nice, and a touch odd", to which I would only add "kook". I mean, I can now add all sorts of other descriptors, many of which are to be found on the Virtue's poster hanging on my door, and some of which I can't type in polite company.
But no, I didn't know him.
She said, "He dropped this off for you."
"This" was a jar of jump rings, and a note.
The note, which I still have somewhere in the depths of my studio / guest room, said something to the effect of how he really wanted to come to the workshop but had to catch a ferry home, and the rings were a gift for the students to use.
The rings just happened to be the exact same size which I had brought with me.
The workshop went well (in fact, one of the students came by my booth yesterday and wanted to know when he could learn some more weaves), and when I got home I told my wife all about this stranger who dropped off these rings. I am always touched by the overwhelming generosity of others.
I told her that there was one woman in the group who seemed to be having a particularly tough time of it lately, and had obviously scrimped and saved for the class, and so I gave her the jar. She was practically in tears as she headed on out. (The woman in the class, not my wife.)
And I made sure to call Michael the next day to thank him, over and over, for his exceedingly kind and unexpected gift.
This is just a single example of Michael's unfailing generosity.
Not many people know it, but he has also instituted a not-for-profit non-registered charity for supplying chain-mail artisans who are going through difficult times to get jump rings for free.
He also often posts that he's "on a boat" not because he loves sailing back and forth between his home of Mayne Island and Vancouver Island, but because he takes care of an elderly woman, and regularly drives her to doctor appointments here.
And on those rare occasions when he has some free time, he can be found at my booth in Bastion Square, just visiting.
Of course, with Michael, it's never just a visit.
One last story example before I begin my day: Michael was visiting me at my booth earlier this week, just after another friend who was hoping to meet him had left. Timing. It's all about timing, isn't it?
Anyways, he was visiting, sitting on the low rock wall next to my booth, when this small group from Austria came by. I stood up to talk with them, and he patiently waited until I was free. One of the ladies asked me some question about something or other, but evidently didn't quite get her translation from German correct, for I truly didn't understand what she was asking. She turned to one of her friends and repeated her question, I presume, in German, whereupon Michael responded. In German.
I think he said something like, "Die haare in meinem nase ist kribbeln. Und ich wie ringe. Sie beobachten möchte, hunde bridge spielen unter wasser?" Or something like that. I don't speak the language, and just sort of trusted him despite my surprise. (He never fails to surprise me.)
They then had this, to my ear, lengthy conversation in German, and he began singing a German folk song, to which they all laughed and joined in.
Yeah. If it comes down to it, and I had to think about him, I would simply recall him getting a group of Austrian's to sing German folk songs in my booth. That about sums him up.
I love this business. I get to meet all sorts of kooks.
Jokes? He often let's them go on. He's kind of cool that way.
On this forum, there is one person, in my own mind, that sticks out: Michael. He's a bit of a kook (and since I know that people from this forum are likely reading this, he's never gonna live that title down), exceedingly generous, and someone I'm very proud to call a good friend. (Hence, I refer to him as a kook.)
But one question I get asked a lot, for some reason, is how we met. After all, there aren't that many of us chain-mailers around, and while we see each other's work on the net, many of us have never met.
Well, I got to thinking about that question the other day, and realized that it was a pretty good story.
So.....
Once upon a time (unless you're from the middle east, then it's "Under the azure dome..."), I was asked to do a chain-mail workshop at a local store. Since teaching is one of my passions in life, and chain-mail is another, combining the two seemed like a good idea. The date was set. The notices went out. The people registered, and all seemed good in my little corner of the world.
And then the day arrived. (Cue the symphonic music.)
The sun crept ever higher in the sky; the clock ticked ominously on; the vultures were circling overhead. (Actually, they were. We have a lot of vultures around here.)
Momentary light-hearted aside - One day, a few summers past, I decided to take a break and head out to nature, as I am wont to do. I drove over to Beaver Lake, a great place for a quick dip in some nice water, or a pleasant walk in the woods, whichever you choose at the moment. On that particular day, I chose the water. And soon discovered that there were tons of little kids, all about 2 - 5 years old, swimming in the shallows of the lake. And overhead? Dozens of vultures circling. Hmmm. Methinks they knew something.
And now back to our regularly scheduled story.
My son was picked up from his bus. My wife had wended her way home. I was properly fed and watered, so it was time for me to embark upon my journey.
As it was early evening, I gave myself plenty of time to fight the rush hour traffic, which on the Island is more like the "rush quarter-hour", and I successfully passed it all heading in the other direction. I forgot that I was going downtown, and they weren't. In short, I got there way too early, and had some time to wander. A cup of tea was acquired, and I scouted out a cheese shop that I had never noticed. Mmmm. Cheese.
And then made my way back to the store.
When I walked in, the proprietor looked at me a bit strange and asked, "Do you know Michael?"
Well, I know a few Michaels. In fact, one of them was best man at my wedding. But this Michael? Couldn't say that I did.
She described him as "a bit of a social misfit, extremely nice, and a touch odd", to which I would only add "kook". I mean, I can now add all sorts of other descriptors, many of which are to be found on the Virtue's poster hanging on my door, and some of which I can't type in polite company.
But no, I didn't know him.
She said, "He dropped this off for you."
"This" was a jar of jump rings, and a note.
The note, which I still have somewhere in the depths of my studio / guest room, said something to the effect of how he really wanted to come to the workshop but had to catch a ferry home, and the rings were a gift for the students to use.
The rings just happened to be the exact same size which I had brought with me.
The workshop went well (in fact, one of the students came by my booth yesterday and wanted to know when he could learn some more weaves), and when I got home I told my wife all about this stranger who dropped off these rings. I am always touched by the overwhelming generosity of others.
I told her that there was one woman in the group who seemed to be having a particularly tough time of it lately, and had obviously scrimped and saved for the class, and so I gave her the jar. She was practically in tears as she headed on out. (The woman in the class, not my wife.)
And I made sure to call Michael the next day to thank him, over and over, for his exceedingly kind and unexpected gift.
This is just a single example of Michael's unfailing generosity.
Not many people know it, but he has also instituted a not-for-profit non-registered charity for supplying chain-mail artisans who are going through difficult times to get jump rings for free.
He also often posts that he's "on a boat" not because he loves sailing back and forth between his home of Mayne Island and Vancouver Island, but because he takes care of an elderly woman, and regularly drives her to doctor appointments here.
And on those rare occasions when he has some free time, he can be found at my booth in Bastion Square, just visiting.
Of course, with Michael, it's never just a visit.
One last story example before I begin my day: Michael was visiting me at my booth earlier this week, just after another friend who was hoping to meet him had left. Timing. It's all about timing, isn't it?
Anyways, he was visiting, sitting on the low rock wall next to my booth, when this small group from Austria came by. I stood up to talk with them, and he patiently waited until I was free. One of the ladies asked me some question about something or other, but evidently didn't quite get her translation from German correct, for I truly didn't understand what she was asking. She turned to one of her friends and repeated her question, I presume, in German, whereupon Michael responded. In German.
I think he said something like, "Die haare in meinem nase ist kribbeln. Und ich wie ringe. Sie beobachten möchte, hunde bridge spielen unter wasser?" Or something like that. I don't speak the language, and just sort of trusted him despite my surprise. (He never fails to surprise me.)
They then had this, to my ear, lengthy conversation in German, and he began singing a German folk song, to which they all laughed and joined in.
Yeah. If it comes down to it, and I had to think about him, I would simply recall him getting a group of Austrian's to sing German folk songs in my booth. That about sums him up.
I love this business. I get to meet all sorts of kooks.
Friday, May 22, 2015
You Never Know, or Happy Coffee
It all began with a simple invitation.
My wife, who is a musician in the Canadian Navy, was invited to the Lieutenant Governor's house for dinner one evening. This woman, the LG, is a great supporter of the arts, and has honoured the band every year since she began serving in this position. Now I, as a military spouse, was also invited. But there was a dress code. I had to wear a suit and tie.
A suit I have no problem with. They're formal, look good and are fairly comfortable to wear. A tie, on the other hand, is just plain silly. It came about because a king was too fat and a bit of a slob. He wore a wide necktie to prevent the food from spilling all over his shirt. It was nothing more than a glorified napkin. They're also uncomfortable when worn "properly". In short, I don't like ties.
What was I to do?
Make one in scale-mail, of course.
And that's just what I did.
I laid one of each of the scales on my suit and chose the colours that I thought would go best with it. I made it that afternoon, and wore it that evening. Voila. Problem solved.
Of course, while I was at the dinner, I had tons of people looking at it, and even sold two while I was there. It was so popular that I had some people take photos of it and post them on Facebook.
I went home, and thought nothing more about it until the very next morning.
"Hi", someone wrote, "I saw your tie on Facebook and was wondering if you had any more of them?" It turned out that they were a photographer and wanted to do a photo shoot in Vancouver a few weeks later.
The photo shoot was in black and white, so I lined up all the scales and took a shot of them in black and white, just to see how they would turn out. I then selected the colours that showed best in that medium and made a tie just for the shoot. No problem.
I gave the ties to the organizer, who worked in downtown Victoria at a store, and she took them to Vancouver. A few days later I was to pick them up, again at the store.
Which didn't open until 10 am.
(Don't you just love how this story winds all over the place? And where's the coffee? Patience, Grass Hopper.)
Well, that morning I dropped off my wife at work, my son at school, and it was only 8:15. I had some time to kill, which is generally not a good thing, since that's how you wound eternity.
I drove downtown and beheld a miracle: a parking spot. Without a moment's thought, I parked, knowing that it was free parking for a little while longer. I got out of the car and paid for an additional hour (I love the fact that you can pay ahead of time like that in Victoria), and then thought "Where to get some coffee while waiting?"
That was when I noticed I was parked just in front of a coffee shop: Hey Happy Coffee. (You know, they actually have a web-site, which I've never visited. This is it: heyhappycoffee.com. Let's click on it now.) (Pretty simple. Straight forward. To the point. And at least they link to a map.)
Anyways, despite the simplicity of their web-site, their coffee is unbelievably incredible. it`s one of those places that measures out the beans ahead of time for each cup. They then grind them when you order, and measure out the precise amount of water.
And you know what? It's really worth it. I was amazed. Like, totally amazed.
I even ordered a donut, which I would never do. I don't like donuts, not much. But this donut was a delicacy. I was really impressed.
Anyways, I ended up talking to the owner, and mentioned why I was there. I was waiting to pick up my ties.
In the end, he asked if I could come back and show them to him, for he had seen me making some chain-mail while I was waiting. After all, what else would I do in a new coffee shop?
I went down, got the ties, thanked the woman who organized the shoot, and headed back to show Mr Hey Happy Coffee dude.
Who just happened to be the partner of the woman who produces Style File on CTV.
He took a quick pic of one of them, sent it to her, and she proceeded to contact me about doing a show on my work.
(This is where I just sit here for a few moments in silence, shaking my head in disbelief about how the world seems to work when you look for delightful miracles everywhere, and saying a prayer of thanks to whoever is in charge of receiving these sorts of prayers.)
Now, let me see. What else do I need to put here?
Oh, yes. Photos and links.
So, in order, here is my photo of the tie:
Here is the black and white test shot:
Here is the link to photos that were taken in Vancouver: http://www.bellomag.com/farris-by-martinareem/
And here's the link for the video interview: http://vancouverisland.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=602146
I'd paste the last two directly in here, but want to encourage you to visit their sites. Traffic figures and all that.
Anyways, this morning I wandered back to Hey Happy for a cup of coffee this morning and thought this would make a good story for today. You never know, something may come of this.
My wife, who is a musician in the Canadian Navy, was invited to the Lieutenant Governor's house for dinner one evening. This woman, the LG, is a great supporter of the arts, and has honoured the band every year since she began serving in this position. Now I, as a military spouse, was also invited. But there was a dress code. I had to wear a suit and tie.
A suit I have no problem with. They're formal, look good and are fairly comfortable to wear. A tie, on the other hand, is just plain silly. It came about because a king was too fat and a bit of a slob. He wore a wide necktie to prevent the food from spilling all over his shirt. It was nothing more than a glorified napkin. They're also uncomfortable when worn "properly". In short, I don't like ties.
What was I to do?
Make one in scale-mail, of course.
And that's just what I did.
I laid one of each of the scales on my suit and chose the colours that I thought would go best with it. I made it that afternoon, and wore it that evening. Voila. Problem solved.
Of course, while I was at the dinner, I had tons of people looking at it, and even sold two while I was there. It was so popular that I had some people take photos of it and post them on Facebook.
I went home, and thought nothing more about it until the very next morning.
"Hi", someone wrote, "I saw your tie on Facebook and was wondering if you had any more of them?" It turned out that they were a photographer and wanted to do a photo shoot in Vancouver a few weeks later.
The photo shoot was in black and white, so I lined up all the scales and took a shot of them in black and white, just to see how they would turn out. I then selected the colours that showed best in that medium and made a tie just for the shoot. No problem.
I gave the ties to the organizer, who worked in downtown Victoria at a store, and she took them to Vancouver. A few days later I was to pick them up, again at the store.
Which didn't open until 10 am.
(Don't you just love how this story winds all over the place? And where's the coffee? Patience, Grass Hopper.)
Well, that morning I dropped off my wife at work, my son at school, and it was only 8:15. I had some time to kill, which is generally not a good thing, since that's how you wound eternity.
I drove downtown and beheld a miracle: a parking spot. Without a moment's thought, I parked, knowing that it was free parking for a little while longer. I got out of the car and paid for an additional hour (I love the fact that you can pay ahead of time like that in Victoria), and then thought "Where to get some coffee while waiting?"
That was when I noticed I was parked just in front of a coffee shop: Hey Happy Coffee. (You know, they actually have a web-site, which I've never visited. This is it: heyhappycoffee.com. Let's click on it now.) (Pretty simple. Straight forward. To the point. And at least they link to a map.)
Anyways, despite the simplicity of their web-site, their coffee is unbelievably incredible. it`s one of those places that measures out the beans ahead of time for each cup. They then grind them when you order, and measure out the precise amount of water.
And you know what? It's really worth it. I was amazed. Like, totally amazed.
I even ordered a donut, which I would never do. I don't like donuts, not much. But this donut was a delicacy. I was really impressed.
Anyways, I ended up talking to the owner, and mentioned why I was there. I was waiting to pick up my ties.
In the end, he asked if I could come back and show them to him, for he had seen me making some chain-mail while I was waiting. After all, what else would I do in a new coffee shop?
I went down, got the ties, thanked the woman who organized the shoot, and headed back to show Mr Hey Happy Coffee dude.
Who just happened to be the partner of the woman who produces Style File on CTV.
He took a quick pic of one of them, sent it to her, and she proceeded to contact me about doing a show on my work.
(This is where I just sit here for a few moments in silence, shaking my head in disbelief about how the world seems to work when you look for delightful miracles everywhere, and saying a prayer of thanks to whoever is in charge of receiving these sorts of prayers.)
Now, let me see. What else do I need to put here?
Oh, yes. Photos and links.
So, in order, here is my photo of the tie:
Here is the black and white test shot:
Here is the link to photos that were taken in Vancouver: http://www.bellomag.com/farris-by-martinareem/
And here's the link for the video interview: http://vancouverisland.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=602146
I'd paste the last two directly in here, but want to encourage you to visit their sites. Traffic figures and all that.
Anyways, this morning I wandered back to Hey Happy for a cup of coffee this morning and thought this would make a good story for today. You never know, something may come of this.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Customer of the Day
Today was a very interesting day at the market.
It all began when I was setting up. I had only put out a few bracelet racks when this nice lady came up to look at them. I said "Hi' and commented on how it must be a good morning for she had two cups of coffee, one in each hand. "Well," she indicated, "only one is for me. This other one is for you." She said that it was in appreciation of the article I wrote about the butterflies. It's hard for me to express how grateful I was, and how much that cheered up my morning.
We chatted for quite some time, not long enough, to be sure, but still for quite a while.
And that was how my day began.
It continued with more friends coming by to say "hi", as well as some nice people picking up a few pieces here and there.
But what really made my day, out of the numerous great little things that happened, was a visit by one man in particular.
He was from Australia, and one of those people who just seems to love to learn a bit about everything. He was interesting, yet seemed a bit aloof at the same time. He didn't smile, and made little in the way of eye contact. But he seemed to enjoy looking at everything, and then asked if he could take a photo of one of my pieces.
"Of course", I replied, with enthusiasm. "If it turns out good, can you send me a copy? I get some great shots that way."
At that he smiled. He took out his camera, a nice, small digital slr, and took some photos of a few pieces.
Then he pointed to a scale-mail vest and asked some questions about the piece. Did I make the scales? No I didn't, I get them from such-and-such web-site. I mentioned a few other sites and said how they all seem to be the same these days, and that I was hoping to find different scales. I also mentioned that a friend of mine is beginning to make some different types, but they're not really ready yet.
He pointed to a bracelet and asked about how it was made. I grabbed my pliers, a few links, and began to show him.
Twenty minutes we must have talked. All sorts of questions about the work, the materials, you name it.
I really didn't expect him to buy anything, and he was gracious when someone else came by. He stepped aside to allow me to greet the other, and answer any questions they may have had.
All in all, I enjoyed meeting him.
He finally picked out one piece, read the price tag, and asked how much it would be with tax.
"Oh, tax is included", I replied. "It makes change a lot easier, and I just calculate it out at the end of the day."
He ended up buying it, which was nice, but not what made him a special client in my eyes.
No, what made him special was what he said afterwards.
"You know," he began, "every other booth I've been to today I've asked if I could take a picture. They all said no, and one person was even rude about how they said it. When I wanted to buy a piece from someone else, I said, 'twenty dollars', and they said 'you've gotta pay tax, too'. There was something about the way they said that made me not buy it from them. You're the only one I've met today that has treated me well. And this is the only gift I've bought here. Thank you."
That made me feel good. Oh, not the bit about the other merchants, for all the ones I know at the market aren't like that at all. No. What made it a special transaction was that he chose to buy it not only because he liked the piece, but because he liked me as a person.
In my eyes, that makes him the customer of the day.
Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.
It all began when I was setting up. I had only put out a few bracelet racks when this nice lady came up to look at them. I said "Hi' and commented on how it must be a good morning for she had two cups of coffee, one in each hand. "Well," she indicated, "only one is for me. This other one is for you." She said that it was in appreciation of the article I wrote about the butterflies. It's hard for me to express how grateful I was, and how much that cheered up my morning.
We chatted for quite some time, not long enough, to be sure, but still for quite a while.
And that was how my day began.
It continued with more friends coming by to say "hi", as well as some nice people picking up a few pieces here and there.
But what really made my day, out of the numerous great little things that happened, was a visit by one man in particular.
He was from Australia, and one of those people who just seems to love to learn a bit about everything. He was interesting, yet seemed a bit aloof at the same time. He didn't smile, and made little in the way of eye contact. But he seemed to enjoy looking at everything, and then asked if he could take a photo of one of my pieces.
"Of course", I replied, with enthusiasm. "If it turns out good, can you send me a copy? I get some great shots that way."
At that he smiled. He took out his camera, a nice, small digital slr, and took some photos of a few pieces.
Then he pointed to a scale-mail vest and asked some questions about the piece. Did I make the scales? No I didn't, I get them from such-and-such web-site. I mentioned a few other sites and said how they all seem to be the same these days, and that I was hoping to find different scales. I also mentioned that a friend of mine is beginning to make some different types, but they're not really ready yet.
He pointed to a bracelet and asked about how it was made. I grabbed my pliers, a few links, and began to show him.
Twenty minutes we must have talked. All sorts of questions about the work, the materials, you name it.
I really didn't expect him to buy anything, and he was gracious when someone else came by. He stepped aside to allow me to greet the other, and answer any questions they may have had.
All in all, I enjoyed meeting him.
He finally picked out one piece, read the price tag, and asked how much it would be with tax.
"Oh, tax is included", I replied. "It makes change a lot easier, and I just calculate it out at the end of the day."
He ended up buying it, which was nice, but not what made him a special client in my eyes.
No, what made him special was what he said afterwards.
"You know," he began, "every other booth I've been to today I've asked if I could take a picture. They all said no, and one person was even rude about how they said it. When I wanted to buy a piece from someone else, I said, 'twenty dollars', and they said 'you've gotta pay tax, too'. There was something about the way they said that made me not buy it from them. You're the only one I've met today that has treated me well. And this is the only gift I've bought here. Thank you."
That made me feel good. Oh, not the bit about the other merchants, for all the ones I know at the market aren't like that at all. No. What made it a special transaction was that he chose to buy it not only because he liked the piece, but because he liked me as a person.
In my eyes, that makes him the customer of the day.
Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Success?
I love seeing what other artists are doing. In many ways, they are the inspiration for my own work. They keep me pushing my own boundaries, seeing the world in new ways. After all, isn't that the role of the artist?
Oh, and I don't just mean in chain-mail. I get inspired by looking at the paintings of the masters, the sculptures of the ancient civilizations, the jewelry and designs of traditional cultures all over the world. Every artist, and every civilization, has something to offer that is worthy and noble.
One of my favorite designs comes from the Massai tribe of Africa. It is a simple chest piece, and rather than making it out of beads, I use chain. Over the years it has been one of my most popular pieces. And you know what? I can not take any credit for it at all. It is not my design. All I've done is interpret it.
And I think that's what we all do, as artists. We look at the world around us, borrow what inspires us, re-interpret it, and then put it out there for others to see.
Sometimes, though, we have to copy. When I began making chain, I copied the European 4:1 pattern, the 6:1, 8:1, Byzantine, Oriental 4:1 and 6:1, the box weave, and the corduroy, the latter two being variations on the European 4:1. I looked through knitting books and was inspired to come up with many more weaves. I played around, ending up with the Persian and Mobius patterns. Many years later I saw the Helm and tried that, simply a 1:2 pattern with a floater surrounding the single link.
This is how art grows. This is how artists move.
In recent years, I've noticed an interesting thing. Many more people are trying their hand at copying the myriad weaves that are now out there. And this is good. I really encourage it.
But what I've noticed is this recurring question: "Did I do it right?" And I often wonder, is this the best question to ask?
We often tend to view the world in terms of "success" and "failure".
These up and coming artists often post a picture of something with a name attached to it and ask that question: "Did I do it right?" If you're attached to the name, and trying to reproduce that exact weave as is, then maybe not. But if you drop the name and look at the beauty of what you have created, then yes, you've done well.
If we see it in terms of success or failure, right or wrong, then we run the risk of tossing what is wrong. We may fall into the trap of seeing ourselves as a failure. Too many times, in various fields, I have seen people who are struggling at something give up because they don't realize what they are learning; they only see where they are failing.
Too often in my own work I have not been able to get what I set out to make, but you know what? I looked at what I did make and said, "That's beautiful."
I don't look at this as success or failure. Those terms are too stark for my liking. Instead I think about it all in terms of crisis and victory.
And this works really well not just in my art, but in all areas of my life. In fact, I believe that this is how life works, how history works. For every crisis we face, there is a victory waiting in the wings, if we only allow ourselves to see it. And for every victory we achieve, the seeds of the next crisis are latent within. It is like a continual sine wave that is always moving us forward.
A few years back I was selling in a local market. It was quite enjoyable, not too much stress, a pleasant pace, fun clientele. But one day the live band that was playing was just a bit too loud. Well, that's putting it nicely. They were so loud that I couldn't hear my customers from across the table. Nobody could sell anything because we couldn't hear anyone. When the band paused between songs, a couple of the other merchants asked if I could ask them to turn it down a bit. I'm usually fairly nice about these sorts of things, and went up to explain the problem and ask. Well, the band, after having already asked if the volume was ok, told me to talk to the manager. Evidently when they asked, they weren't really looking for an answer. So I went to the manager of the show, and she said, "If you don't like it, you can pack." Well, I was not impressed. I told her, in not the politest of terms, that I thought her priorities were messed up.
And I went back to my booth and packed.
In the middle of the show.
Took my tent down and everything.
Now, those of you who do shows know that this is a big no-no. Even if you sell out, you're supposed to wait until the show is over before packing up. My neighbours were shocked. They couldn't believe what I was doing. When they shouted at me to find out what happened, for the music was still just as loud as ever, I said that I was told to pack if I didn't like it. So I was packing.
Now, in my terminology, this was a crisis. All of a sudden half my income was gone. Did I fail at my work? I could have seen it that way. I could have given it all up right then.
Instead, I saw it as a crisis. Where was the victory going to come from? I had a free slot in my schedule. Of course, it was the middle of the season, and finding a good show in the middle of the summer is not all that easy. But I decided to try.
I looked around and found a show that met my expectations, and sent off a letter. The manager responded fairly quickly, and said that her show was full, but if I submitted my pictures, she'd put me on the waiting list.
Pictures were sent and she phoned me within a few hours asking if could set up in 2 days, on Thursday. I was in.
And that's the show I do today. I lost one show, for one day every other week, and picked up another show for four days a week.
That was the victory.
And the next crisis? Remember, I said that every victory has the seeds of the next crisis latent within? I can't keep up. I sell faster than I can make the stuff. It's a good position to be in, but it is tough, too. I mean, it's not just about the money for me. I feel bad when someone wants a piece and I just can't make it in a good amount of time.
But this is a crisis I can live with. Besides, it's meant that I've been able to help some others by having their work at my booth, too. That is its own crisis and victory.
So the next time you face a problem, or can't figure out a weave, don't see it as a failure or a disaster. See it as a crisis. Look for the victory. I'm sure you'll find it.
Oh, and I don't just mean in chain-mail. I get inspired by looking at the paintings of the masters, the sculptures of the ancient civilizations, the jewelry and designs of traditional cultures all over the world. Every artist, and every civilization, has something to offer that is worthy and noble.
One of my favorite designs comes from the Massai tribe of Africa. It is a simple chest piece, and rather than making it out of beads, I use chain. Over the years it has been one of my most popular pieces. And you know what? I can not take any credit for it at all. It is not my design. All I've done is interpret it.
And I think that's what we all do, as artists. We look at the world around us, borrow what inspires us, re-interpret it, and then put it out there for others to see.
Sometimes, though, we have to copy. When I began making chain, I copied the European 4:1 pattern, the 6:1, 8:1, Byzantine, Oriental 4:1 and 6:1, the box weave, and the corduroy, the latter two being variations on the European 4:1. I looked through knitting books and was inspired to come up with many more weaves. I played around, ending up with the Persian and Mobius patterns. Many years later I saw the Helm and tried that, simply a 1:2 pattern with a floater surrounding the single link.
This is how art grows. This is how artists move.
In recent years, I've noticed an interesting thing. Many more people are trying their hand at copying the myriad weaves that are now out there. And this is good. I really encourage it.
But what I've noticed is this recurring question: "Did I do it right?" And I often wonder, is this the best question to ask?
We often tend to view the world in terms of "success" and "failure".
These up and coming artists often post a picture of something with a name attached to it and ask that question: "Did I do it right?" If you're attached to the name, and trying to reproduce that exact weave as is, then maybe not. But if you drop the name and look at the beauty of what you have created, then yes, you've done well.
If we see it in terms of success or failure, right or wrong, then we run the risk of tossing what is wrong. We may fall into the trap of seeing ourselves as a failure. Too many times, in various fields, I have seen people who are struggling at something give up because they don't realize what they are learning; they only see where they are failing.
Too often in my own work I have not been able to get what I set out to make, but you know what? I looked at what I did make and said, "That's beautiful."
I don't look at this as success or failure. Those terms are too stark for my liking. Instead I think about it all in terms of crisis and victory.
And this works really well not just in my art, but in all areas of my life. In fact, I believe that this is how life works, how history works. For every crisis we face, there is a victory waiting in the wings, if we only allow ourselves to see it. And for every victory we achieve, the seeds of the next crisis are latent within. It is like a continual sine wave that is always moving us forward.
A few years back I was selling in a local market. It was quite enjoyable, not too much stress, a pleasant pace, fun clientele. But one day the live band that was playing was just a bit too loud. Well, that's putting it nicely. They were so loud that I couldn't hear my customers from across the table. Nobody could sell anything because we couldn't hear anyone. When the band paused between songs, a couple of the other merchants asked if I could ask them to turn it down a bit. I'm usually fairly nice about these sorts of things, and went up to explain the problem and ask. Well, the band, after having already asked if the volume was ok, told me to talk to the manager. Evidently when they asked, they weren't really looking for an answer. So I went to the manager of the show, and she said, "If you don't like it, you can pack." Well, I was not impressed. I told her, in not the politest of terms, that I thought her priorities were messed up.
And I went back to my booth and packed.
In the middle of the show.
Took my tent down and everything.
Now, those of you who do shows know that this is a big no-no. Even if you sell out, you're supposed to wait until the show is over before packing up. My neighbours were shocked. They couldn't believe what I was doing. When they shouted at me to find out what happened, for the music was still just as loud as ever, I said that I was told to pack if I didn't like it. So I was packing.
Now, in my terminology, this was a crisis. All of a sudden half my income was gone. Did I fail at my work? I could have seen it that way. I could have given it all up right then.
Instead, I saw it as a crisis. Where was the victory going to come from? I had a free slot in my schedule. Of course, it was the middle of the season, and finding a good show in the middle of the summer is not all that easy. But I decided to try.
I looked around and found a show that met my expectations, and sent off a letter. The manager responded fairly quickly, and said that her show was full, but if I submitted my pictures, she'd put me on the waiting list.
Pictures were sent and she phoned me within a few hours asking if could set up in 2 days, on Thursday. I was in.
And that's the show I do today. I lost one show, for one day every other week, and picked up another show for four days a week.
That was the victory.
And the next crisis? Remember, I said that every victory has the seeds of the next crisis latent within? I can't keep up. I sell faster than I can make the stuff. It's a good position to be in, but it is tough, too. I mean, it's not just about the money for me. I feel bad when someone wants a piece and I just can't make it in a good amount of time.
But this is a crisis I can live with. Besides, it's meant that I've been able to help some others by having their work at my booth, too. That is its own crisis and victory.
So the next time you face a problem, or can't figure out a weave, don't see it as a failure or a disaster. See it as a crisis. Look for the victory. I'm sure you'll find it.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
So Close
Most of my larger pieces are glorified necklaces. They sit on the shoulders and drape over the chest, designed to adorn any simple shirt, from a velvet top to a cotton t-shirt. It's for this reason that they seem to be so popular.
While some advise me to use much nicer shirts on my mannequins than the t-shirts I have, it is because of the simplicity that I use them. For a long time my female mannequins, my womannequins, had stunning velvet or silk shirts on them, but some people would pass them by claiming that they didn't own such nice shirts. Once I began using the cotton t's, many more people began looking at them seriously. Go figure.
One day, at a winter craft show, a lady came by and just fell in love with one of the tops. This one was simple chain-mail with a curb chain adornment, designed to cap the shoulders and flow across the chest. And this woman had ample of that to flow across.
She was not a small woman.
I mean, she wasn't what I would call fat. She was just very large. If memory serves, she was nearly 6-feet tall, very large boned, and Rubens would have found her a tad on the lean side to paint.
She fell in love with this piece and asked ever so nicely if she could please try it on. Of course she could. No problem.
But then there was.
She wanted to buy it, and I reflexively said that I wouldn't sell it to her. Her face fell, almost in disbelief.
"I'm sorry", I stammered, "I mean, I will, but this one is just too small for you. It almost looks like a toy. I want to make another one for you, to fit. I feel like it needs about another 6 inches on the draping."
She was a bit dubious, but could see what I meant.
"How much more", she asked cautiously.
I quoted a nominal extra amount to cover material costs, and she immediately recognized that this extra amount would not really cover my time all that well. To be fair, though, I guessed it would take an extra hour, maybe, and that was worth it to me to ensure it looked good on her.
In the end, she ordered it, measurements were made, the piece was finished and sent off, as she lived a number of hours away by car.
And then summer came. She must have remembered that I was at Bastion Square in the summer, for she came by my booth, all sheepish. She really loved the piece, she said, but she just couldn't wear it.
Without a moments thought, I told her that I would either properly fit it to her, or refund her 100%.
This stunned her, for she hadn't encountered an artist that would custom make a piece and then offer to buy it back at full price. What can I say? That's how I do business.
She was super happy, and was about to hand it back to me when I asked her to put it on. I mean, I'm fairly confident about my work, and think that I sometimes know what I'm doing. I wanted to see where I went wrong, learn from it.
So she put it on.
And I bit back my smile. Well, I tried to bite back my smile. It kind of crept up on me.
"See? It just doesn't fit the same," she said. "I so love it, but it just doesn't feel right to me. Do you think you can adjust it? Or should I just get my money back?"
"I think I can take care of it."
"How long will it take?"
"Hmmm. I'm not sure. Let's see."
And I rotated it 90 degrees, so that shoulder caps were sitting on her shoulders instead of in the front and back.
While some advise me to use much nicer shirts on my mannequins than the t-shirts I have, it is because of the simplicity that I use them. For a long time my female mannequins, my womannequins, had stunning velvet or silk shirts on them, but some people would pass them by claiming that they didn't own such nice shirts. Once I began using the cotton t's, many more people began looking at them seriously. Go figure.
One day, at a winter craft show, a lady came by and just fell in love with one of the tops. This one was simple chain-mail with a curb chain adornment, designed to cap the shoulders and flow across the chest. And this woman had ample of that to flow across.
She was not a small woman.
I mean, she wasn't what I would call fat. She was just very large. If memory serves, she was nearly 6-feet tall, very large boned, and Rubens would have found her a tad on the lean side to paint.
She fell in love with this piece and asked ever so nicely if she could please try it on. Of course she could. No problem.
But then there was.
She wanted to buy it, and I reflexively said that I wouldn't sell it to her. Her face fell, almost in disbelief.
"I'm sorry", I stammered, "I mean, I will, but this one is just too small for you. It almost looks like a toy. I want to make another one for you, to fit. I feel like it needs about another 6 inches on the draping."
She was a bit dubious, but could see what I meant.
"How much more", she asked cautiously.
I quoted a nominal extra amount to cover material costs, and she immediately recognized that this extra amount would not really cover my time all that well. To be fair, though, I guessed it would take an extra hour, maybe, and that was worth it to me to ensure it looked good on her.
In the end, she ordered it, measurements were made, the piece was finished and sent off, as she lived a number of hours away by car.
And then summer came. She must have remembered that I was at Bastion Square in the summer, for she came by my booth, all sheepish. She really loved the piece, she said, but she just couldn't wear it.
Without a moments thought, I told her that I would either properly fit it to her, or refund her 100%.
This stunned her, for she hadn't encountered an artist that would custom make a piece and then offer to buy it back at full price. What can I say? That's how I do business.
She was super happy, and was about to hand it back to me when I asked her to put it on. I mean, I'm fairly confident about my work, and think that I sometimes know what I'm doing. I wanted to see where I went wrong, learn from it.
So she put it on.
And I bit back my smile. Well, I tried to bite back my smile. It kind of crept up on me.
"See? It just doesn't fit the same," she said. "I so love it, but it just doesn't feel right to me. Do you think you can adjust it? Or should I just get my money back?"
"I think I can take care of it."
"How long will it take?"
"Hmmm. I'm not sure. Let's see."
And I rotated it 90 degrees, so that shoulder caps were sitting on her shoulders instead of in the front and back.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Trends
I just don't get it.
Every year I expect the beginning of the season to be slow, and to be fair, the first day or two usually is, but without fail May and September are my highest sales. I've checked.
On Thursday, the first day of the season, which happened to also be the last day of April this year, so maybe it doesn't count, was a good day for me. Friday? Even better. While my neighbours were struggling to reach the single digits in sales, and one was happy because she reached the double digits, I was well and truly ensconced in figures much higher than that.
In fact, and here's the weirdness, I tend to do best when it is cold and windy here in beautiful downtown Victoria. Again, I've checked.
There must be some strange mental aberration that gets people to say, "Oh gosh golly gee whillickers, it's really cold and windy out here in beautiful downtown Victoria. I should strap slabs of metal all over my body."
These people are nuts.
Aside - Yesterday, as I was getting ready for the day, I noticed my change purse was really heavy. I went upstairs and dumped all the change on the bed. "Quarters? I don't deal with quarters." So I put them all in the piggy bank. "Loonies? I deal with loonies." "You sure do", said my loving wife. (Loonies are the Canadian dollar coin.) (Isn't it cool that our currency is called the loonie? Of course, that explains why it's not worth all that much in the international market.)
I love them, but they're nuts.
So, let's take a moment and look at trends.
First, I mentioned that thing about the weather, right? Well, you see, for quite some time I kept track of the weather in my sales book, just because I was curious. Sure enough, there was this weird weather trend. Cold and windy? Sales spike. Hot and sunny? Sales spike, which made sense if I kept my stuff in the shade. Cool metal on a hot body. Sure. I get it. Still doesn't explain the cold and windy thing.
Anyways. I tracked it for a while until I began to see the trend.
Then I decided to track something else. I had noticed that my sales figures were all over the place. Some days people were like, "Oh my God! Chain-mail!!!!", and other days people would whisper as they walked past, "Oh my God, chain-mail", as if they were commenting on something better left unmentioned and avoided on the sidewalk.
Why?
Aside - Have you ever noticed, fellow mailers out there, that many people tend to say the words "Oh look, chain-mail" when they go past your booth? They never seem to say, "Oh look, t-shirts" when they pass my neighbour's booth. I've never heard anyone say, "Oh look, nature photos", or "Oh look, pottery".Just something I've noticed.
Back to my original thoughts.
I was wondering about the varied sales numbers, so I decided to see what was different about each day. In a word, cruise ships. Ok. That's two words. But they should be one. Cruiseships.
I mentioned that I live in Victoria, BC, Canada. And here in beautiful downtown Victoria (I mentioned it's beautiful, right?) we get lots of cruise ships.
Well, we don't actually get the cruise ships downtown, although it would be amusing to watch them try to navigate the streets. They go in to Ogden Point, regurgitate their slew of passengers, many of whom head straight to Bastion Square to buy my work, or at least sneer at it.
So why the difference in days?
I was curious, so I started recording which ships came in on which days.
I went through the cruise ship schedule, yes they have it here in tourist town, and put it all in a spreadsheet. I eliminated those that came in on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, since I don't sell on those days, and got rid of those that arrived after 4 pm. That was when I noticed my trend.
Princess Cruise Lines and Royal Caribbean Cruises are like the Walmart shoppers of the tourist trade. They love the chintzy kitsch, t-shirts, "wish you were here" postcards and all.
Norwegian Cruise Lines? They're like the Viking warriors of tourism. Raiding, pillaging, looting, and spending it all on good quality armour, or at least fine armour-like jewelry and fashion designs.
Now, on the days with the Caribbean Princesses, I set up my booth a bit differently. The pink and blue scale butterflies migrate forward, along with the purply and pastel bracelets. The bronze and steel slide into the background. Flowers and cutsey fluffy rabbit-like things suddenly appear, while the big horking shirts fill up the dark corners of scary-dom.
And the next day, when the Vikings invade, all the stops come out. The heavy metal booms forward, the bunnies go scurrying for their lives, the growls and the screams resound, and the flowers are nothing more than a distant pastel nightmare.
And thus hath my sales book leveled out.
There are other trends that seem to occur, but most of them are illusory. You will often hear people say "Purple is the in colour this year" or orange is, or lilac, or fuchsia. Poppycock. That whole colour of the year trend is a joke. While it may have been true fifty years ago, when there were only a handful of magazines controlling the fashion industry, that is certainly not the case today. We live in an age where people can find what they love any time at all. They can follow their own tastes in style rather than some narrow-minded editor locked up in a dark office in New York City who picks a random colour out of a hat. That whole fashion sheep thing is a by-gone memory, in my opinion.
So, no trends there.
Again, I checked.
How, you ask? I'm glad you did, dear Reader.
You see, it only took me 26 years, but I finally realized a few years back that I could sort my bracelets by colour rather than weave. I know, I know. I'm such a guy. All the women readers are sitting there going "Duh, of course." And all the guys are going "Wow. That's brilliant."
Now I have one row of display space for each colour scheme of bracelets. I have little baggies of overstock for each colour. As the baggies empty, I make more in that particular colour. No spreadsheets. No fancy schmacy programming things. I just look at the bags nd think, "That's looking a bit low today."
And you know what? Every year I consistently sell the same ratio of colours, like four times as much purple as orange. Red and yellow? About the same of each. Black? Tons. Blue? Tons. Green? Well, maybe half a ton. Last year, when purple was supposed to be the "in" colour? No change in my sales of it. I checked. I looked at my orders to see how many bags of purple rings I ordered.
Trends.
They're interesting things. And they're worth looking into. You never know what fascinating things you'll discover.
Like my Vikings and Princesses.
Or that cold and windy thing that happens.
I still think they're nuts.
Every year I expect the beginning of the season to be slow, and to be fair, the first day or two usually is, but without fail May and September are my highest sales. I've checked.
On Thursday, the first day of the season, which happened to also be the last day of April this year, so maybe it doesn't count, was a good day for me. Friday? Even better. While my neighbours were struggling to reach the single digits in sales, and one was happy because she reached the double digits, I was well and truly ensconced in figures much higher than that.
In fact, and here's the weirdness, I tend to do best when it is cold and windy here in beautiful downtown Victoria. Again, I've checked.
There must be some strange mental aberration that gets people to say, "Oh gosh golly gee whillickers, it's really cold and windy out here in beautiful downtown Victoria. I should strap slabs of metal all over my body."
These people are nuts.
Aside - Yesterday, as I was getting ready for the day, I noticed my change purse was really heavy. I went upstairs and dumped all the change on the bed. "Quarters? I don't deal with quarters." So I put them all in the piggy bank. "Loonies? I deal with loonies." "You sure do", said my loving wife. (Loonies are the Canadian dollar coin.) (Isn't it cool that our currency is called the loonie? Of course, that explains why it's not worth all that much in the international market.)
I love them, but they're nuts.
So, let's take a moment and look at trends.
First, I mentioned that thing about the weather, right? Well, you see, for quite some time I kept track of the weather in my sales book, just because I was curious. Sure enough, there was this weird weather trend. Cold and windy? Sales spike. Hot and sunny? Sales spike, which made sense if I kept my stuff in the shade. Cool metal on a hot body. Sure. I get it. Still doesn't explain the cold and windy thing.
Anyways. I tracked it for a while until I began to see the trend.
Then I decided to track something else. I had noticed that my sales figures were all over the place. Some days people were like, "Oh my God! Chain-mail!!!!", and other days people would whisper as they walked past, "Oh my God, chain-mail", as if they were commenting on something better left unmentioned and avoided on the sidewalk.
Why?
Aside - Have you ever noticed, fellow mailers out there, that many people tend to say the words "Oh look, chain-mail" when they go past your booth? They never seem to say, "Oh look, t-shirts" when they pass my neighbour's booth. I've never heard anyone say, "Oh look, nature photos", or "Oh look, pottery".Just something I've noticed.
Back to my original thoughts.
I was wondering about the varied sales numbers, so I decided to see what was different about each day. In a word, cruise ships. Ok. That's two words. But they should be one. Cruiseships.
I mentioned that I live in Victoria, BC, Canada. And here in beautiful downtown Victoria (I mentioned it's beautiful, right?) we get lots of cruise ships.
Well, we don't actually get the cruise ships downtown, although it would be amusing to watch them try to navigate the streets. They go in to Ogden Point, regurgitate their slew of passengers, many of whom head straight to Bastion Square to buy my work, or at least sneer at it.
So why the difference in days?
I was curious, so I started recording which ships came in on which days.
I went through the cruise ship schedule, yes they have it here in tourist town, and put it all in a spreadsheet. I eliminated those that came in on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, since I don't sell on those days, and got rid of those that arrived after 4 pm. That was when I noticed my trend.
Princess Cruise Lines and Royal Caribbean Cruises are like the Walmart shoppers of the tourist trade. They love the chintzy kitsch, t-shirts, "wish you were here" postcards and all.
Norwegian Cruise Lines? They're like the Viking warriors of tourism. Raiding, pillaging, looting, and spending it all on good quality armour, or at least fine armour-like jewelry and fashion designs.
Now, on the days with the Caribbean Princesses, I set up my booth a bit differently. The pink and blue scale butterflies migrate forward, along with the purply and pastel bracelets. The bronze and steel slide into the background. Flowers and cutsey fluffy rabbit-like things suddenly appear, while the big horking shirts fill up the dark corners of scary-dom.
And the next day, when the Vikings invade, all the stops come out. The heavy metal booms forward, the bunnies go scurrying for their lives, the growls and the screams resound, and the flowers are nothing more than a distant pastel nightmare.
And thus hath my sales book leveled out.
There are other trends that seem to occur, but most of them are illusory. You will often hear people say "Purple is the in colour this year" or orange is, or lilac, or fuchsia. Poppycock. That whole colour of the year trend is a joke. While it may have been true fifty years ago, when there were only a handful of magazines controlling the fashion industry, that is certainly not the case today. We live in an age where people can find what they love any time at all. They can follow their own tastes in style rather than some narrow-minded editor locked up in a dark office in New York City who picks a random colour out of a hat. That whole fashion sheep thing is a by-gone memory, in my opinion.
So, no trends there.
Again, I checked.
How, you ask? I'm glad you did, dear Reader.
You see, it only took me 26 years, but I finally realized a few years back that I could sort my bracelets by colour rather than weave. I know, I know. I'm such a guy. All the women readers are sitting there going "Duh, of course." And all the guys are going "Wow. That's brilliant."
Now I have one row of display space for each colour scheme of bracelets. I have little baggies of overstock for each colour. As the baggies empty, I make more in that particular colour. No spreadsheets. No fancy schmacy programming things. I just look at the bags nd think, "That's looking a bit low today."
And you know what? Every year I consistently sell the same ratio of colours, like four times as much purple as orange. Red and yellow? About the same of each. Black? Tons. Blue? Tons. Green? Well, maybe half a ton. Last year, when purple was supposed to be the "in" colour? No change in my sales of it. I checked. I looked at my orders to see how many bags of purple rings I ordered.
Trends.
They're interesting things. And they're worth looking into. You never know what fascinating things you'll discover.
Like my Vikings and Princesses.
Or that cold and windy thing that happens.
I still think they're nuts.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
If at First You Don't Succeed...
Yesterday.
Day 2.
Bastion Square.
The beginning of the season is always slow. Very slow. Terribly slow.
At the end of Day 1 I was really happy, for I greatly exceeded sales expectations, which wasn't all that difficult. My expectations were low. Very low. Terribly low. I could have given away a bracelet and exceeded expectations.
My hopes for yesterday weren't much better.
But then this couple came up to the booth, well tanned, older but not elderly, and obviously still very much in love with each other. I loved talking with them. They were fresh off the tour boat, and live in Arizona. After talking geography for a bit, I learned that his daughter lives in the town in which I grew up, over 3600 km away. That was a nice little connection.
Now, let me back up a moment. In recent weeks the issue of materialism has been rearing its ugly head over and over. You only need to read my article on the business of business to understand that. And with market season beginning, the importance of people over profits is something I have to deal with even more. Just the other day I saw a video in which another artist is "coaching" artists on how to sell their work. She actually says "Don't compliment people on their jewelry." Don't compliment people? She acts as if the sale is the most important thing of all, forgetting that community and people are far more important. We're not Walmart, Shell Oil, IBM, or any other corporado. We don't have to believe the lie that growing the economy is the most important thing. We can understand that people come first. We can act on it. We can make a difference, when we recognize that people come first.
Have I mentioned that? It really is important. Here. Let me say it again.
People come first.
Anyways, back to yesterday.
Mr and Mrs Arizona came by, and we had a delightful little chat.
They were also fascinated with my work.
Of course, they'd seen chain-mail before, but "never anything like this". They would pick up a bracelet, examine the structure and weave, and he would place it on her wrist. She would smile and praise the piece, but I could see in the ever-so-slight wrinkling around the very corners of her eyes that this was not a piece she would wear.
She liked the colour, the weave and everything about it, but it would just sit in a drawer.
"How about this one", he asked, putting a $15 item on her.
"Well...", she began.
"It's not really your style", I offered, relieving her of the conflict of wanting to say 'no', but not risk offending either him or me.
"So how about this one", he said, trying on a $30 bracelet.
"It's nice...", she began.
"But you wouldn't wear it," I said, as I smiled at her, "would you?"
"No, not really. I mean I love it, but I just can't see myself wearing it." She looked as if she wanted to apologize for that, but I assured her that it was ok. I understood. I didn't want to sell a piece that would just sit around. People have their preferences, and that's great.
I told them that I was very happy just having met them, that I wasn't worried about selling anything. I'd make a living this year, I knew that. I trusted it. They shouldn't feel any pressure.
This goes back to that materialism thing, again. People are more important. I often praise their jewelry, or something else that is praiseworthy about them. I try to get to know them a bit, and if I feel that another vendor may have something that they would love, I let them know. "Oh, you seem to like this style of work. Be sure to check out my friend over there." It all works out, and makes them feel that they are more than just a walking wallet.
I made sure she knew that she didn't have to buy anything she wasn't going to wear.
But he really loved her, and this was how he expressed his love. He enjoyed buying her little gifts. I understood that and honoured it, too.
Over and over he offered her various bracelets, rich purples, ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues, all the bright tones. Over and over again she smiled in loving appreciation, and declined each and every offer.
Then it hit me.
I reached over to a pile of stuff I hadn't sorted out yet and got out a necklace made by my friend Francois. It was a simple necklace made in a random assortment of gemstone colours.
"Here", I said, offering it to the man. I realized that he had only been showing her bracelets. I said that I could cut it down to a bracelet, if he wanted, assuring him that I just make lengths and sell them as whatever.
But I knew her. I had watched her reactions. It wasn't the chain-mail she wouldn't wear. It was the bracelets. She had enough bracelets at home already.
And the corners of her eyes lit up.
He saw it, too.
He had found her piece.
He also found a piece that he could buy from me, which was his way of expressing thanks. I knew that was important to him, too, and I acknowledged it.
In some ways, he reminded me of my own Father. That was how he would say "thank you", too.
After they left, I found myself admiring this guy and thinking of him often throughout the rest of the day. Come to think of it, I find myself thinking of him today, too. I admire his tenacity, his determination in finding a way to say "I love you" to his wife, and "thanks" to me. I mean, I was satisfied with just having met them, but watching this made it more special to me. I just know that they're going to talk about it, too.
Oh, and the cost was far more than that initial bracelet, which I could have talked them into, had I wanted the quick sale. But really, I was far more interested in their happiness. The fact that I ended up with a larger sale is incidental.
Actually, the fact that it was one of Francois' pieces makes it even more special to me. Good job, Francois.
And thanks, Dad, I love you, too.
Day 2.
Bastion Square.
The beginning of the season is always slow. Very slow. Terribly slow.
At the end of Day 1 I was really happy, for I greatly exceeded sales expectations, which wasn't all that difficult. My expectations were low. Very low. Terribly low. I could have given away a bracelet and exceeded expectations.
My hopes for yesterday weren't much better.
But then this couple came up to the booth, well tanned, older but not elderly, and obviously still very much in love with each other. I loved talking with them. They were fresh off the tour boat, and live in Arizona. After talking geography for a bit, I learned that his daughter lives in the town in which I grew up, over 3600 km away. That was a nice little connection.
Now, let me back up a moment. In recent weeks the issue of materialism has been rearing its ugly head over and over. You only need to read my article on the business of business to understand that. And with market season beginning, the importance of people over profits is something I have to deal with even more. Just the other day I saw a video in which another artist is "coaching" artists on how to sell their work. She actually says "Don't compliment people on their jewelry." Don't compliment people? She acts as if the sale is the most important thing of all, forgetting that community and people are far more important. We're not Walmart, Shell Oil, IBM, or any other corporado. We don't have to believe the lie that growing the economy is the most important thing. We can understand that people come first. We can act on it. We can make a difference, when we recognize that people come first.
Have I mentioned that? It really is important. Here. Let me say it again.
People come first.
Anyways, back to yesterday.
Mr and Mrs Arizona came by, and we had a delightful little chat.
They were also fascinated with my work.
Of course, they'd seen chain-mail before, but "never anything like this". They would pick up a bracelet, examine the structure and weave, and he would place it on her wrist. She would smile and praise the piece, but I could see in the ever-so-slight wrinkling around the very corners of her eyes that this was not a piece she would wear.
She liked the colour, the weave and everything about it, but it would just sit in a drawer.
"How about this one", he asked, putting a $15 item on her.
"Well...", she began.
"It's not really your style", I offered, relieving her of the conflict of wanting to say 'no', but not risk offending either him or me.
"So how about this one", he said, trying on a $30 bracelet.
"It's nice...", she began.
"But you wouldn't wear it," I said, as I smiled at her, "would you?"
"No, not really. I mean I love it, but I just can't see myself wearing it." She looked as if she wanted to apologize for that, but I assured her that it was ok. I understood. I didn't want to sell a piece that would just sit around. People have their preferences, and that's great.
I told them that I was very happy just having met them, that I wasn't worried about selling anything. I'd make a living this year, I knew that. I trusted it. They shouldn't feel any pressure.
This goes back to that materialism thing, again. People are more important. I often praise their jewelry, or something else that is praiseworthy about them. I try to get to know them a bit, and if I feel that another vendor may have something that they would love, I let them know. "Oh, you seem to like this style of work. Be sure to check out my friend over there." It all works out, and makes them feel that they are more than just a walking wallet.
I made sure she knew that she didn't have to buy anything she wasn't going to wear.
But he really loved her, and this was how he expressed his love. He enjoyed buying her little gifts. I understood that and honoured it, too.
Over and over he offered her various bracelets, rich purples, ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues, all the bright tones. Over and over again she smiled in loving appreciation, and declined each and every offer.
Then it hit me.
I reached over to a pile of stuff I hadn't sorted out yet and got out a necklace made by my friend Francois. It was a simple necklace made in a random assortment of gemstone colours.
"Here", I said, offering it to the man. I realized that he had only been showing her bracelets. I said that I could cut it down to a bracelet, if he wanted, assuring him that I just make lengths and sell them as whatever.
But I knew her. I had watched her reactions. It wasn't the chain-mail she wouldn't wear. It was the bracelets. She had enough bracelets at home already.
And the corners of her eyes lit up.
He saw it, too.
He had found her piece.
He also found a piece that he could buy from me, which was his way of expressing thanks. I knew that was important to him, too, and I acknowledged it.
In some ways, he reminded me of my own Father. That was how he would say "thank you", too.
After they left, I found myself admiring this guy and thinking of him often throughout the rest of the day. Come to think of it, I find myself thinking of him today, too. I admire his tenacity, his determination in finding a way to say "I love you" to his wife, and "thanks" to me. I mean, I was satisfied with just having met them, but watching this made it more special to me. I just know that they're going to talk about it, too.
Oh, and the cost was far more than that initial bracelet, which I could have talked them into, had I wanted the quick sale. But really, I was far more interested in their happiness. The fact that I ended up with a larger sale is incidental.
Actually, the fact that it was one of Francois' pieces makes it even more special to me. Good job, Francois.
And thanks, Dad, I love you, too.
Friday, May 1, 2015
The Secret of Gift-Giving
A couple of years ago I was selling my work at a Christmas sale. It was fairly typical, in that much of the work was fairly crafty type stuff, with the odd higher end item here and there. Most of the people attending were in the "elderly" category, to put it kindly. But every now and then a family would show up, with the various teens and youth in tow.
The most enjoyable part of this show, aside from the volunteers organizers, were the folks looking for gifts for their grandkids. They would come up to my booth, stop, and then come out with the most wonderful exclamations that I hadn't heard for many a long year. "Bless my soul." "As I live and breathe." "By gum, I haven't seen chain-mail since Heck was a pup.'
But out of the entire weekend, there was one family that stood out, far and above the rest. It was your typical family with a mom, dad and young teenage son, trying to make the best of the day and seeming to have a hard time doing so. The son, in particular, seemed to be quietly and politely going out of his mind, eagerly counting down the nanoseconds until he could escape this private little jingly hell, even though he obviously loved the time spent with his folks.
Then he saw my booth, and stood transfixed as his parents continued on to the popcorn booth next door.
Chain-mail.
It was like a little nerdy oasis amidst a desert of kitsch.
He must have taken a good 20 minutes to walk from one end of my table to the other, which, if you calculate it, comes out to a zipping .00454545 miles per hour. And he must have been so out of breath walking at such a pace for he was unable to say a single word during this entire episodic trek.
Then he left.
A few minutes later, he came back with his folks in tow.
And the whole escapade was repeated again for my viewing pleasure, but this time in triplicate.
20 minutes. All three of them. In silence.
It must have been genetic.
Now, if that wasn't enough, when they reached the end of their journey, they turned around and did it again, for old time's sake, I guess.
Occasionally, to break the monotony, they would point out one piece or another. All in silence.
And then they left.
Now, during this time, I did say hi to them. I did offer assistance. I said the obligatory greetings, and offered what help I could, but none of it seemed to get through. I began to suspect that they might have been from lower Estonia, and fluent only in Akurio. But that was just a guess. Wrong, as it turned out.
For about half an hour later the mother came running back.
"Can you hide this bracelet", she said, picking one up. "I want to get it for my son, but don't want to risk him seeing it."
I hid it behind a display while she moved to another booth to get out her money. I packed it up, and passed it on to her as she flew by, not looking in my direction, swapping the money for the bag as if she had been trained by the KGB during the Cold War.
I could only smile in appreciation for her successful venture in getting her son a gift without him noticing.
But then, about two minutes later, the son came by. He grabbed a steel bracelet and said, "Can you wrap this for my dad? I'll be back in a minute to pay for it." And like his mom, he surreptitiously went off, swinging back to make that same monetary swap.
This time I was able to get a quick "thank you" in.
I could only laugh, and smile, at the thought of the two of them successfully making their purchases without the others knowing.
But then, two hours later, genetics won out again. The father came by. He looked relieved, and said, "I thought I'd never get away from them. Is there any chance you could wrap this bracelet for my wife? I think it's the only thing she actually liked in this whole show. And she really loved it."
To be honest, I couldn't read what any of them liked as they snailed their way past, but I trusted that they knew each other far better than I did.
So in the end, all three of them had picked up a gift for one of the other three from my booth.
Oh, how I would have loved to have been there on Christmas morning when they each opened their presents.
The most enjoyable part of this show, aside from the volunteers organizers, were the folks looking for gifts for their grandkids. They would come up to my booth, stop, and then come out with the most wonderful exclamations that I hadn't heard for many a long year. "Bless my soul." "As I live and breathe." "By gum, I haven't seen chain-mail since Heck was a pup.'
But out of the entire weekend, there was one family that stood out, far and above the rest. It was your typical family with a mom, dad and young teenage son, trying to make the best of the day and seeming to have a hard time doing so. The son, in particular, seemed to be quietly and politely going out of his mind, eagerly counting down the nanoseconds until he could escape this private little jingly hell, even though he obviously loved the time spent with his folks.
Then he saw my booth, and stood transfixed as his parents continued on to the popcorn booth next door.
Chain-mail.
It was like a little nerdy oasis amidst a desert of kitsch.
He must have taken a good 20 minutes to walk from one end of my table to the other, which, if you calculate it, comes out to a zipping .00454545 miles per hour. And he must have been so out of breath walking at such a pace for he was unable to say a single word during this entire episodic trek.
Then he left.
A few minutes later, he came back with his folks in tow.
And the whole escapade was repeated again for my viewing pleasure, but this time in triplicate.
20 minutes. All three of them. In silence.
It must have been genetic.
Now, if that wasn't enough, when they reached the end of their journey, they turned around and did it again, for old time's sake, I guess.
Occasionally, to break the monotony, they would point out one piece or another. All in silence.
And then they left.
Now, during this time, I did say hi to them. I did offer assistance. I said the obligatory greetings, and offered what help I could, but none of it seemed to get through. I began to suspect that they might have been from lower Estonia, and fluent only in Akurio. But that was just a guess. Wrong, as it turned out.
For about half an hour later the mother came running back.
"Can you hide this bracelet", she said, picking one up. "I want to get it for my son, but don't want to risk him seeing it."
I hid it behind a display while she moved to another booth to get out her money. I packed it up, and passed it on to her as she flew by, not looking in my direction, swapping the money for the bag as if she had been trained by the KGB during the Cold War.
I could only smile in appreciation for her successful venture in getting her son a gift without him noticing.
But then, about two minutes later, the son came by. He grabbed a steel bracelet and said, "Can you wrap this for my dad? I'll be back in a minute to pay for it." And like his mom, he surreptitiously went off, swinging back to make that same monetary swap.
This time I was able to get a quick "thank you" in.
I could only laugh, and smile, at the thought of the two of them successfully making their purchases without the others knowing.
But then, two hours later, genetics won out again. The father came by. He looked relieved, and said, "I thought I'd never get away from them. Is there any chance you could wrap this bracelet for my wife? I think it's the only thing she actually liked in this whole show. And she really loved it."
To be honest, I couldn't read what any of them liked as they snailed their way past, but I trusted that they knew each other far better than I did.
So in the end, all three of them had picked up a gift for one of the other three from my booth.
Oh, how I would have loved to have been there on Christmas morning when they each opened their presents.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Times of Change
She handed me a $20 bill for a $15 bracelet, 1/2 Persian red and silver weave.
Now that's normally not a problem, for I just give back a single $5 bill and we call it even. Right?
This particular day, as most particular days, I was selling my work at the Bastion Square Market. That's in Victoria, in case you're not familiar with it. And Victoria, that's in British Columbia. As in Canada.
And this $20 was green.
Well, even that's not saying much, since most $20 bills here are green. But this one was a darker green. As in US-currency-green. As in not-Canadian.
Now that's fine. I've got no problem with that. Most of us here in the frozen north accept US currency, and last year it was actually close to par. So she handed me $20 and I gave her back $5 with nary a twinge of guilt. No problem, right?
Well, let's just say that things went contrary to my expectations.
With a disgusted sneer on her face, she looked at this blue plasticy-paper thing in her hand and said, "What is this?" I could have put a worm in her hand and received about the same expression. Probably from both of them at the same time.
"That's your change", I said, with a calm coolness that was rapidly evaporating.
"But what is this?"
I carefully explained that the bracelet was only $15, and since she gave me $20, I owed her $5.
Again, she asked what it was, since it was clearly not a bill that looked familiar to her.
"Well," I said, as carefully as I would if I were explaining a difficult concept to a child, "we're in Canada. That is a Canadian five dollar bill. Your change."
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
I carefully edited my first response before I said anything, for I do try to be a gentleman.
"You can spend it like any other money", I tried.
"But I don't want this funny money. I want an American five."
"I'm sorry", I replied, trying to bolster up some sympathy in my voice, and likely failing, "but I don't have one. And besides, it's illegal for me to give change in anything besides Canadian currency."
"But I don't want this. I want a real five."
That was when I managed to smile again.
"All right, look", I offered. "Here. Let me show you something."
I handed her back her twenty, and took the bracelet and the five back in my own hand. And then I carefully outlined my idea to her.
"We are not in the United States. We are in Canada. This is another country, and your currency is not considered valid, legal tender here. I only accepted it out of courtesy. Now, if you want to buy this bracelet, please pay me $15 in real Canadian currency. I will not accept your funny money here. I will only take legal tender."
I'm not sure, but I don't think I have ever been so glad to lose a sale.
Well, except for maybe that lawyer guy. But that's another story.
Now that's normally not a problem, for I just give back a single $5 bill and we call it even. Right?
This particular day, as most particular days, I was selling my work at the Bastion Square Market. That's in Victoria, in case you're not familiar with it. And Victoria, that's in British Columbia. As in Canada.
And this $20 was green.
Well, even that's not saying much, since most $20 bills here are green. But this one was a darker green. As in US-currency-green. As in not-Canadian.
Now that's fine. I've got no problem with that. Most of us here in the frozen north accept US currency, and last year it was actually close to par. So she handed me $20 and I gave her back $5 with nary a twinge of guilt. No problem, right?
Well, let's just say that things went contrary to my expectations.
With a disgusted sneer on her face, she looked at this blue plasticy-paper thing in her hand and said, "What is this?" I could have put a worm in her hand and received about the same expression. Probably from both of them at the same time.
"That's your change", I said, with a calm coolness that was rapidly evaporating.
"But what is this?"
I carefully explained that the bracelet was only $15, and since she gave me $20, I owed her $5.
Again, she asked what it was, since it was clearly not a bill that looked familiar to her.
"Well," I said, as carefully as I would if I were explaining a difficult concept to a child, "we're in Canada. That is a Canadian five dollar bill. Your change."
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
I carefully edited my first response before I said anything, for I do try to be a gentleman.
"You can spend it like any other money", I tried.
"But I don't want this funny money. I want an American five."
"I'm sorry", I replied, trying to bolster up some sympathy in my voice, and likely failing, "but I don't have one. And besides, it's illegal for me to give change in anything besides Canadian currency."
"But I don't want this. I want a real five."
That was when I managed to smile again.
"All right, look", I offered. "Here. Let me show you something."
I handed her back her twenty, and took the bracelet and the five back in my own hand. And then I carefully outlined my idea to her.
"We are not in the United States. We are in Canada. This is another country, and your currency is not considered valid, legal tender here. I only accepted it out of courtesy. Now, if you want to buy this bracelet, please pay me $15 in real Canadian currency. I will not accept your funny money here. I will only take legal tender."
I'm not sure, but I don't think I have ever been so glad to lose a sale.
Well, except for maybe that lawyer guy. But that's another story.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
The Business of Business
When I wrote that story about the little girl and the scale butterfly yesterday, I had a number of comments, most of which were of the "you made me cry" variety, or something about how nice it was that I did that. One comment, though, really stood out for me. He said that it helped "all of us to be not just good business people, but better people."
That, of course, got me thinking about the implications of such a statement, nice as it was.
There are many strange beliefs about business, ethics, and people that I question on a regular basis.
Once we begin to raise these questions, we will find that our very attitude towards business begins to change.
To start, we need to look at materialism, and how its influence has pervaded our entire civilization. We often read in various spiritual and philosophical writings a condemnation of the materialistic attitude. But what is that attitude? Materialism means that we place an undue emphasis on material objects, and have a disinterest in spiritual, intellectual or cultural values.
A healthier attitude does not mean that we ignore the material side of existence, nor that we live an ascetic lifestyle. Instead, it means that we live a more balanced life, with our family and friends, people in general, as a higher priority than objects. It means understanding the very source of our happiness, discovering what makes us noble in character, and striving every day to become better and better people.
Once we understand what leads to our upliftment, as opposed to what abases us, then we can better see how every aspect of our life can be bent towards helping us achieve our goals in life. After all, nobody wants to be a worse person.
With business, we will no longer see it merely as a means of acquiring a little bit of money, but instead value it for the opportunities it offers us to interact with others.
Yes, we have to eat. I won't deny that. Paying the rent is a good thing, too. But are those the overall objectives of our life here on Earth? Are truly here merely to get a few more pieces of dust to clutter up the bookshelves of our lives? How many people have you ever heard, on their deathbed, wishing they had spent just a little more time in the office?
It sounds absurd to put it that way, but this is how many of us live our life.
Many years ago I made the very conscious decision to not do that.
When it came to choosing between advancing my career or spending five years as a stay-at-home dad to help raise my son, the choice was clear. I stayed at home. Well, rather I went out with him, picking a different virtue each week on which to focus. We would go to the conservatory and talk about how we could show this virtue to plants, or how they showed it to us. We explored those same questions at the zoo with the animals, and at the children's museum with kids. For the first five years of his life, this is what we did together.
I made almost no chain-mail during that time.
Do I regret it? Are you kidding me? I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
My wife and I made the mutual decision to cut out all those things that sucked up our money, such as cable tv and a cell phone, and live off her salary, which was far higher than mine. All our lives are far richer because of that decision.
At my booth in the summer, where I sell my work and make most of my money for the year, I have an unusual policy. If someone comes up to my table and obviously feels like they have to buy something to be a good person, that purchasing some material item somehow validates their existence, I will talk them out of buying anything. Instead, I spend time with them, asking questions and truly listening to their answers. I get to know them, praise them and encourage them. And if someone else comes up needing assistance, I ask them to wait while I finish with this very important person. And then I try to give the new person the same degree of attention, just to make sure they don't feel hurt.
People come first.
Over the years I have lost many sales because of this attitude, but I have gained something far more valuable: friends. And these friends have also, incidentally, become my greatest client base. They have demonstrated true "customer loyalty", returning year after year, bringing their friends with them.
True wealth lies not in what you own, but in who you are.
In the end, if you want to be a better business person, then you have to become a better person first.
That, of course, got me thinking about the implications of such a statement, nice as it was.
There are many strange beliefs about business, ethics, and people that I question on a regular basis.
- Why do we accept that the desire for greater and greater profit should be the fundamental operating principle of business?
- Why have so many people placed economic activity at the very centre of human existence?
- Why do we presume success is synonymous with economic wealth?
- But most of all, where do we come off defining a human being as a consumer of goods and services?
Once we begin to raise these questions, we will find that our very attitude towards business begins to change.
To start, we need to look at materialism, and how its influence has pervaded our entire civilization. We often read in various spiritual and philosophical writings a condemnation of the materialistic attitude. But what is that attitude? Materialism means that we place an undue emphasis on material objects, and have a disinterest in spiritual, intellectual or cultural values.
A healthier attitude does not mean that we ignore the material side of existence, nor that we live an ascetic lifestyle. Instead, it means that we live a more balanced life, with our family and friends, people in general, as a higher priority than objects. It means understanding the very source of our happiness, discovering what makes us noble in character, and striving every day to become better and better people.
Once we understand what leads to our upliftment, as opposed to what abases us, then we can better see how every aspect of our life can be bent towards helping us achieve our goals in life. After all, nobody wants to be a worse person.
With business, we will no longer see it merely as a means of acquiring a little bit of money, but instead value it for the opportunities it offers us to interact with others.
Yes, we have to eat. I won't deny that. Paying the rent is a good thing, too. But are those the overall objectives of our life here on Earth? Are truly here merely to get a few more pieces of dust to clutter up the bookshelves of our lives? How many people have you ever heard, on their deathbed, wishing they had spent just a little more time in the office?
It sounds absurd to put it that way, but this is how many of us live our life.
Many years ago I made the very conscious decision to not do that.
When it came to choosing between advancing my career or spending five years as a stay-at-home dad to help raise my son, the choice was clear. I stayed at home. Well, rather I went out with him, picking a different virtue each week on which to focus. We would go to the conservatory and talk about how we could show this virtue to plants, or how they showed it to us. We explored those same questions at the zoo with the animals, and at the children's museum with kids. For the first five years of his life, this is what we did together.
I made almost no chain-mail during that time.
Do I regret it? Are you kidding me? I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
My wife and I made the mutual decision to cut out all those things that sucked up our money, such as cable tv and a cell phone, and live off her salary, which was far higher than mine. All our lives are far richer because of that decision.
At my booth in the summer, where I sell my work and make most of my money for the year, I have an unusual policy. If someone comes up to my table and obviously feels like they have to buy something to be a good person, that purchasing some material item somehow validates their existence, I will talk them out of buying anything. Instead, I spend time with them, asking questions and truly listening to their answers. I get to know them, praise them and encourage them. And if someone else comes up needing assistance, I ask them to wait while I finish with this very important person. And then I try to give the new person the same degree of attention, just to make sure they don't feel hurt.
People come first.
Over the years I have lost many sales because of this attitude, but I have gained something far more valuable: friends. And these friends have also, incidentally, become my greatest client base. They have demonstrated true "customer loyalty", returning year after year, bringing their friends with them.
True wealth lies not in what you own, but in who you are.
In the end, if you want to be a better business person, then you have to become a better person first.
Friday, April 10, 2015
A Love of Butterflies
All right, all right. I know it's been like years since I've posted. My wife has been getting on my case about it, but truthfully I've been too busy making things to take the time to write.
So today (which first came out as "toady" given my lack of ability, or "abailaitiy", to control where my fingers are going on this keyboard) I'm going to tell a story.
Are you comfortable? Do you have a nice hot drink by your side? Are you snuggled up with your teddy bear, or what have you?
Good.
Once upon a time, sometime in the middle of last year, probably around August, I was sitting at my booth in Bastion Square, Victoria, BC, Canada (drop by for a visit if you're in the neighbourhood). Now this booth is down towards the water-end of the square, and I have a glorious view of the harbour all summer long. Between me and the water, though, is a wide set of concrete stairs going down to Wharf Street, cross the street and there's the last building on the row, a tall staircase going to a parking lot and, basically, the water with the hills in the background.
So there I am on this gorgeous sunny summer day staring out at the water as I am wont to do when this little girl comes bounding up the stairs. She sees the "pretties" at my booth and begins running towards me as her mother and sister come following up the stairs behind her. She begins looking at all my wares, eyes wide in amazement (I love the unspoken compliments like that), and promptly says "I want that", pointing to a butterfly pendant, just as her mom is within earshot.
I see her mom heave a sigh, so I say to the little girl, "Well, I'd love to sell you this, but I have a very important rule at my booth."
She looks at me, as if to ask what that rule might be, just as her mom and sister arrive.
"I'm not allowed to sell anything until you have looked at all the booths in the market."
Her mother stared at me with something between disbelief and confusion.
"So", I continue, "have you been all through the market, all the way to my friend Robert at the very end and back again?"
"Nooooo", she says, fascinated by this new rule, which I have just made up on the spot.
"Well," I say, carefully stalling while my mind catches up to me, "when I was your age, there was something I really, really wanted. I had saved my money all summer for it, but hadn't found it yet. And one day, I went to a market just like this and I saw something that I thought was a little bit interesting, so I bought it. And wouldn't you know, not even 10 minutes later I saw the thing that I was really saving for just a bit further up. And by then it was too late. I had already spent my money and couldn't afford it. So, I have this rule. You have to look at everything in the market before you can buy anything from me. After that, I'll be very happy to sell you whatever you want."
Her mother was astonished. Here I was turning down an obvious sale for some strange reason. She was grateful, but didn't really know what to make of it.
Anyways, they looked a bit longer, thanked me for my time, and went on their merry way.
At that point one of my neighbours, who had heard all of this, came up to me laughing, saying she couldn't believe I had done that.
"Yeah, but did you see how grateful the mother was? Besides, it was only five dollars. That was well worth it."
The day continued, and a few hours later we had a bit of a lull, so my neighbour came over to chat again.
"So, did that little girl come back to get her butterfly?"
And just as she asked, who should come by but that same little girl.
This time there was no sense of a rushed frenzy of needing to spend the money burning a hole in her pocket. She was calm, collected, and very courteous.
"Excuse me," she began. "I went through the whole market, and even saw your friend Robert. I really like his books. The leprechaun one was my favorite. Anyways, I saw everything and I decided I would like to buy one of these butterflies, please."
How could my heart not melt at such sweetness?
As she was saying this, her family came up behind her with looks of amazement at her change of behaviour.
"That's wonderful", I said with as much sincerity as I could possibly give. "Which one would you like?" I waved my hand at the variety of butterflies there on the table.
She carefully looked them over before declaring, "I would like this one, please", carefully pointing to a blue and pink one, "because it's the closest you have to purple."
"Ok. Now, I'm a little short of butterflies today", I explained, "so I have a special deal going on." I just love the way my mouth says these things before I realize that they're true. "They're normally $5, but if you help me make one, then they're only $4." I had noticed that she had 2 toonies and a loonie in her hand. Don't you just love the names for Canadian currency?
"Ok", she said.
I brought out my box of supplies and asked her, "Which colours would you like? You need to pick out 2 big scales, and 4 small ones."
"Oooohhhh! You have purple!" I hadn't thought her eyes could get any wider, but boy was I wrong.
We laid out all the materials on my board, and I connected the first couple of pieces with her carefully watching.
"Is this a butterfly?" I held up the two scales dangling limply from a single link.
"No."
I added a bit more.
"How about now?" They were still dangling, but there were just more pieces dangling now.
"No."
"Well, we need to add another piece here. Can you hand me the large link, please?"
So she did.
"Doesn't this look just like a butterfly", I asked, holding up a wadded mess of links and scales.
"Noooooo", she said, trying not to laugh.
"Well, maybe if I just add this link here", I remarked, arranging the pieces carefully in one palm, hiding it from her view. And I added the last link, which sort of snaps the whole thing into place, and flicked it up in the air. It spun around and landed right in front of her, a perfectly formed purple and pink butterfly.
If I had thought her eyes were wide earlier, I was sorely mistaken.
With a burst of seven-year old excited energy, she dropped the toonies on the table, grabbed her little treasure and ran off shouting, "Daddy! Daddy! Look at what I got. A purple butterfly."
My neighbour, who was still watching, had tears in her eyes. Neither of us said anything as we watched the little girl bounce out of sight.
But what really made my day was about two minutes later when her mother came back.
"You know", she said, "she would have been happy getting just the blue one. But you just gave her a memory that will last her whole life. Thank you."
And that, dear reader, is what makes this all worth it.
So today (which first came out as "toady" given my lack of ability, or "abailaitiy", to control where my fingers are going on this keyboard) I'm going to tell a story.
Are you comfortable? Do you have a nice hot drink by your side? Are you snuggled up with your teddy bear, or what have you?
Good.
Once upon a time, sometime in the middle of last year, probably around August, I was sitting at my booth in Bastion Square, Victoria, BC, Canada (drop by for a visit if you're in the neighbourhood). Now this booth is down towards the water-end of the square, and I have a glorious view of the harbour all summer long. Between me and the water, though, is a wide set of concrete stairs going down to Wharf Street, cross the street and there's the last building on the row, a tall staircase going to a parking lot and, basically, the water with the hills in the background.
So there I am on this gorgeous sunny summer day staring out at the water as I am wont to do when this little girl comes bounding up the stairs. She sees the "pretties" at my booth and begins running towards me as her mother and sister come following up the stairs behind her. She begins looking at all my wares, eyes wide in amazement (I love the unspoken compliments like that), and promptly says "I want that", pointing to a butterfly pendant, just as her mom is within earshot.
I see her mom heave a sigh, so I say to the little girl, "Well, I'd love to sell you this, but I have a very important rule at my booth."
She looks at me, as if to ask what that rule might be, just as her mom and sister arrive.
"I'm not allowed to sell anything until you have looked at all the booths in the market."
Her mother stared at me with something between disbelief and confusion.
"So", I continue, "have you been all through the market, all the way to my friend Robert at the very end and back again?"
"Nooooo", she says, fascinated by this new rule, which I have just made up on the spot.
"Well," I say, carefully stalling while my mind catches up to me, "when I was your age, there was something I really, really wanted. I had saved my money all summer for it, but hadn't found it yet. And one day, I went to a market just like this and I saw something that I thought was a little bit interesting, so I bought it. And wouldn't you know, not even 10 minutes later I saw the thing that I was really saving for just a bit further up. And by then it was too late. I had already spent my money and couldn't afford it. So, I have this rule. You have to look at everything in the market before you can buy anything from me. After that, I'll be very happy to sell you whatever you want."
Her mother was astonished. Here I was turning down an obvious sale for some strange reason. She was grateful, but didn't really know what to make of it.
Anyways, they looked a bit longer, thanked me for my time, and went on their merry way.
At that point one of my neighbours, who had heard all of this, came up to me laughing, saying she couldn't believe I had done that.
"Yeah, but did you see how grateful the mother was? Besides, it was only five dollars. That was well worth it."
The day continued, and a few hours later we had a bit of a lull, so my neighbour came over to chat again.
"So, did that little girl come back to get her butterfly?"
And just as she asked, who should come by but that same little girl.
This time there was no sense of a rushed frenzy of needing to spend the money burning a hole in her pocket. She was calm, collected, and very courteous.
"Excuse me," she began. "I went through the whole market, and even saw your friend Robert. I really like his books. The leprechaun one was my favorite. Anyways, I saw everything and I decided I would like to buy one of these butterflies, please."
How could my heart not melt at such sweetness?
As she was saying this, her family came up behind her with looks of amazement at her change of behaviour.
"That's wonderful", I said with as much sincerity as I could possibly give. "Which one would you like?" I waved my hand at the variety of butterflies there on the table.
She carefully looked them over before declaring, "I would like this one, please", carefully pointing to a blue and pink one, "because it's the closest you have to purple."
"Ok. Now, I'm a little short of butterflies today", I explained, "so I have a special deal going on." I just love the way my mouth says these things before I realize that they're true. "They're normally $5, but if you help me make one, then they're only $4." I had noticed that she had 2 toonies and a loonie in her hand. Don't you just love the names for Canadian currency?
"Ok", she said.
I brought out my box of supplies and asked her, "Which colours would you like? You need to pick out 2 big scales, and 4 small ones."
"Oooohhhh! You have purple!" I hadn't thought her eyes could get any wider, but boy was I wrong.
We laid out all the materials on my board, and I connected the first couple of pieces with her carefully watching.
"Is this a butterfly?" I held up the two scales dangling limply from a single link.
"No."
I added a bit more.
"How about now?" They were still dangling, but there were just more pieces dangling now.
"No."
"Well, we need to add another piece here. Can you hand me the large link, please?"
So she did.
"Doesn't this look just like a butterfly", I asked, holding up a wadded mess of links and scales.
"Noooooo", she said, trying not to laugh.
"Well, maybe if I just add this link here", I remarked, arranging the pieces carefully in one palm, hiding it from her view. And I added the last link, which sort of snaps the whole thing into place, and flicked it up in the air. It spun around and landed right in front of her, a perfectly formed purple and pink butterfly.
If I had thought her eyes were wide earlier, I was sorely mistaken.
With a burst of seven-year old excited energy, she dropped the toonies on the table, grabbed her little treasure and ran off shouting, "Daddy! Daddy! Look at what I got. A purple butterfly."
My neighbour, who was still watching, had tears in her eyes. Neither of us said anything as we watched the little girl bounce out of sight.
But what really made my day was about two minutes later when her mother came back.
"You know", she said, "she would have been happy getting just the blue one. But you just gave her a memory that will last her whole life. Thank you."
And that, dear reader, is what makes this all worth it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)