ReFraming Pageant Answers

I've been putting a lot of frames together of late, and all this framing has got me thinking.  First of all, I am super happy to have a lot of frames to make!  Secondly, frames usually fit together nicely - eight mitred cuts married into four corners aligned which makes my little OCD heart sing!  Frames are the final compliment to the art they embrace.  They join in concert with a mat to make a perfectly lovely piece for people to enjoy.  Frames are beautiful by themselves, but they are better wrapped around something someone loves.  
So I've been thinking about the fractious nature of our society, political and social, and what to do about it.  You know we type "A" people think we can fix anything.  Clearly, I'm no different.  I spend a lot of time working on getting a framed piece of art together, making it "just so".  Since I put such effort into making a frame and since I have this refrain in my head "Think Globally, Act Locally", I've decided I'm going to try to spend a little more time making an effort to do my part to fit the world together.  I'm going to try to listen more, judge less; smile more, roll my eyes less (whether that's an actual eye roll or one in my mind!); try to remember that the root of "sarcasm" is "tearing flesh" and it's best served sparingly and in very small doses.  I'm going to try to remember that another's path is not the same as mine and may bear no similarities, ergo I might not ever comprehend it. 

I guess all this Christmas stuff has gotten to me!  But I don't think it's so bad to give grace over enmity.  In fact, I think it's a good way to go.  I know it's Pollyanna of me, well maybe a little more Charlene Frazier Stillfied, to think I can or any one of us can actually make a difference, but I can't help but think, at least hope, it is possible.  What's the point if we don't at least aspire to be better? 

Since it's Christmas, I thought I'd post the words of one of my favorite hymns.  Whether you are a person of religious conviction or not, Christian tradition or not, I think the words are worth a read.  I really do want world peace, and I've never even been close to a beauty pageant!   


I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

40 Isn't Fatal

I entered my 40's this week.  I guess that means I have joined the ranks of the middle-aged.  I think it might be more of an adventure if had joined the ranks of Tolkein's Middle Earth, but I'm good with this Earth and this life.  Talked to a friend on my birthday night, and he asked me how I felt about being 40.  I said, "For real.  All day I've been hearing Linda Evan's voice in my head all day saying, '40 isn't fatal.'"   Such wisdom from none other than Krystle Carrington.  And it looks like she was right.  I survived the day to wake up 40 plus a day and now plus two days.  I hope I make it to 40 plus a whole lot more days, weeks and years!  At any rate, there is something different about turning 40 besides the fact that if I grew out my hair it would look just like Linda Evan's in this photo.  Grey hair aside, I am kind of relieved to be 40.  It means I not only made it through my 20's but they are far enough away that I mostly only remember the good parts.  (Note:  my 20's were a bit of a living hell at least til 28.  All that figuring out who you are, how to be you, having to get a "real" job, no more summer vacations, therapy, therapy, therapy, blah, blah, blah.  Hard work.  Not that I would trade the experience since it is part of who I am, but I don't particularly relish that time of my life).  It means I got to have my 30's, which I loved, well except for that whole Daddy dying part, but I loved turning 30 and being in my 30's.  I had a lot of fun, hell, I had too much fun.
Turning 40 feels like a new lease:  new vision of the future, new town, new career, new possibilities, new, new new! 

I've never been one to care about age.  As long as I'm 6'2" above the dirt and not 6' under it, I'm good with it.  Really if you think about it we really don't age.  We are constantly changing physically and mentally,maybe not in the ways we always want to be, but we are being recreated.  To be alive is a state of continual renewal.  We are truly new every morning, reborn each moment and moving ahead to the next.  Our whole self is always new until the one day it isn't, and that works for me.  All that to say, 40 isn't fatal, and I'm looking forward to the years ahead of me with a sense of encouragement and hope and a belief in the promise that I am a part of tomorrow beginning today. 

Frame Shop News: 

We are getting ready for Art Walk on December 7.  We will have new works from our current artists and we have two new artists showing.  I hope you can come by if you're in town.  It should be a good, fun night.

BriGuy messes up ordering products a lot of late, BUT I'm blaming the computer.  So we have this fancy new computer system, which I love, but since I haven't had training on it, I am self-teaching.  Not really such a big deal until I make a mistake that costs money or worse time!  I like to have a comprehensive understanding of a new system before I start using it. 

Now time for blaming the system.  The software isn't exactly what one would call intuitive.  Lots of little inconsistencies that make me just the tiniest bit agitated.  Having spent a few years writing specs for software development, I can tell that this software was developed quickly and with little end-user input.  Naturally, I've made calls and given my notes and some development suggestions.  I'm pretty sure Bob at Lifesaver gets a really big smile on his face when he gets helpful suggestions from me.  He probably evens uses a finger to show that he thinks I'm number one when he sees my number is on his caller ID.  . 

Whatever. I still made errors I shouldn't have made.  Perfectionist Me is having fits each time he finds out that Get-R-Done Me has made an error.  It got out of hand yesterday, and I had to send them both to their rooms to calm down, reflect on the situation and work on solutions rather than concentrating on the problems at hand.  It's working.  We are all getting along famously so far today.  (yes, I know I sound completely insane). 

My only complaint about the work of framing is dry hands.  All the wood and paper apparently sucks the moisture directly out of one's hands which is a huge problem.   I always have dry skin in the winter like most, but it's compounded because I'm a hand washer.  Some would say I am borderline obsessive about handwashing.  (Doesn't that sound out of character?  Of course it does.  Me, obsessive?  Pshaw.  Silly talk).   Ok, so I wash my hands more than the average guy, but I don't care about that.  I do care about the fact that I can't use lotion after washing my hands at the shop because it will mess up mats, glass etc.  So guess what?  My skin is super dry and cracking and they hurt like unholy hell!  Even bled the other night.  Gross and painful.  Thankfully, Owner gave me some kind of miracle salve which I use the instant I leave each day, but I'm afraid I might have to start wearing surgical gloves or something so I can use lotion while at work.   That is not going to be a good look for me, but I'm afraid I'm headed in that direction.  I can see it now:  I'll look like a deranged, psychotic gansgter come serial killer donning surgical gloves, apron and doo rag weilding an exacto knife.  Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a crazy looking man with a razor blade!  I bet that will be great for business.  I'll let you know how it goes! 

Tis the Season! (almost)



Mama & Russell

Today is my mama’s birthday.  She really is one of the best people I’ll ever know.  She is kind, strong, soulful, full of style, beautiful and brilliant.  Happy Birthday Mama!  I love you.
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I have always been one of those people who never understood why stores decorate for Christmas at Halloween. In fact, I have always been one of those people who holds some disdain for Christmas decoration of any sort, anywhere before Thanksgiving. Now, I get it. It's pretty simple really. It is no surprise that retailers do the lion's share of their business in the last quarter of the year so they need to be able to focus on customers not décor as soon as possible.  Still no excuse for Christmas at Halloween.   

I'm sort of kicking myself that I didn't start decorating the shop for before now. My stubborn belief that Christmas can wait its turn and give Thanksgiving its due is going to be the cause for me having to be at the shop late each night this week to get ready for Black Friday. (I really don't like that terminology, "Black Friday". I can't help but to think of the Black Death, which then makes me think about flea-ridden rats and ragged-voice men calling "bring out cha dead!". Not a very Christmassy thought.  According to Wikipedia the origin of the term "Black Friday" is not a happy one; it's bespeaks the chaos caused by all the traffic on that day.  I wish it had a different name like Forage Friday since that's what people do; they go out and forage for the best deals they can find and that makes me think of furry-faced little woodland creatures and Disney movies. At any rate, I'm letting this one go since I don't think I have a snow ball's chance in H-E-double hockey sticks of changing it.)

I love to decorate for Christmas once I get going. But I'm all Scroogy about it before I get started. I say things like, "I'm not doing anything this year. Nope, not a thing!  No tree, no nothing!" Whatever. It doesn't take much to get the door open, and once the door is open, I'm off and running full bore. Owner and I discussed the decor for the shop and agreed on simplicity, a few poinsettias. Well, that was a week ago before I opened the box of decorations and pulled out a bow, my gateway bow if you will. I'm like a junky now. I need to do Christmas and I need to do it big! In my mind's eye, I can see live garland and lights around the store front with big red velvet bows. I keep thinking "how can I get the ceiling speakers installed quickly so I can pipe in holiday carols?"  I see a trimmed tree in store complete with a train.  I'm rolling on Christmas decorating.  (Owner:  these are visions, not plans).  

I think most retailers do the decorating jig in an effort to create an ambiance that helps customer's loosen their purse strings. While I think increased sales is great side benefit of decking the halls, I'm operating from some internal need to create a beautiful scene, really to create a living dream where things really are all sugar plums and gum drops. And let's be real: this is the one time you can dance on the border of tacky, unleash your decorating drag queen and manage to make it look great. Now, that is fun!  It's kind of like the haute couture runway show of decor - you can do all kinds of crazy stuff that no sane person would ever live with day-to-day.

Last night I made my first batch of cookie dough. Typically, I wait for the weekend after Thanksgiving to transform my kitchen into a cookie factory. But this year, I couldn't wait. I have the holiday bug. Literally, I make hundreds of cookies each year. Iced cookies, spicy cookies, buttery cookies, all kinds of cookies! I love it. I'm not a cake maker, but I'm a cookie maker. I pop in Steel Magnolias or Love Actually, and bake, bake bake! Lucky customers of the Frame Shop and Gallery are going to be able to start enjoying them on Forage Friday, er Black Friday.

This morning, I am going to a have photos done for a Christmas ad. I'm going to be in a Santa hat (cliche'? yes; tiny cringe) with my head inside a frame (tiny cringe again, but my idea, and I think it just might work) surrounded by some of super fun framing projects we've done recently. I'm horribly unphotogenic, but I'm hopeful having a professional take the pics will erase for my inability to have a good picture made! Now, I've got to iron my plaid shirt which screams "holiday" to me, not to mention I am pretty much mad about plaid. Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Decorating!

Re-Framing The Art of Loss

One of the funniest (or crazy making for some...) things about the Frame Shop is our collective propensity to lose things. For some, it may be hard to imagine losing a wallet, but not for us. We are champions. If misplacing every day kinds of things were an Olympic sport, Owner and I would put Michael Phelps to shame with our gold medal winnings.

Since becoming a framer, I have become more fully aware of my gift for misplacing things. I have come to embrace this part of me. I haven't always viewed my "gift" as such. When I was a child, my father would become near apoplectic because I could lose only one shoe. I felt like somehow something was wrong with me, as if I were the problem, like people aren’t supposed to be able to lose stuff.  But now I see and believe that being able to lose only one shoe is quite a feat. Ask yourself, can you lose just one shoe? I doubt it.

I don't mean to brag, but I am really talented when it comes to losing things. Now, when it comes to coffee cups, I can take no credit. It is a proven fact that all coffee cups have tiny wings that allow them to fly away when you set them down and turn your back. That piece of scientific fact aside, I get it: I am a bit distractible, and when I set something down, I am usually thinking of a few thousand other extremely import things like "I wonder what the global whale population is? Did I leave the towels in the dryer? I wish my dogs could talk. I hope they invent a hydrogen car in my lifetime." All that necessary thought is what gives me the ability to forget immediately where I placed a thing, such as my keys, screwdriver, cell phone, glass cutter and you name it ad infinitum.

The only time my super-human ability to misplace things becomes problematic is when I am trying to find the thing I need. For instance, I can get extraordinarily frustrated trying fit together art, mat, frame and glass when I can't find what I need especially when I just had it in hand. This whole "have to find it" thing is Kryptonite. Invariably at this point, my astounding talent for cursing engages.  My gifts really do abound.

Owner and I really do make an effort to have our tools handy and readily available for use. Ok, so really that means we have a bunch of the same tools so there is always an extra available, but that counts. When the Kryptonite is too strong, we simply have to walk away and wait for the missing item to reveal itself. It always does. Owner used to have an antidote for this, The Finder, but alas The Finder moved on to help others.

Not long after I started working at the Frame Shop, Owner told me about Shirley. Shirley worked for Owner for a very long time. I remember her. She was an incredibly kind and talented woman, and I imagine she has a pretty good sense of humor too given how long she worked there. At any rate, Shirley doesn't have the gift of loss. Owner revealed Shirley’s true identity to me. She is The Finder. According to legend, and Owner confirms, The Finder could literally find anything. I completely understand what an asset having a finder is. I used to have a Finder like Shirley who worked for me. She saved my hide numerous times.

Now, every time one of us needs to find something we simply say, "Call Shirley." It's like a prayer or incantation to invoke The Finder. Until we perfect our summoning of The Finder, we are working diligently to tame our gift for losing items so as to lessen our need for The Finder.  I am convinced we shall succeed. 

News from Peckerwood

I've just moved into my mother's house, the house I grew up in. It has been vacant for several years, so it is handy to have it available. Of course, it would be nice to have a buyer turn up, but for now, I am grateful to have a place I can settle into and call my own for a bit.

"Peckerwood" is the name my father gave this place due to the many varieties of woodpeckers inhabiting the woods around our family place. Frankly, the name has always been kind of funny to me, and I have no doubt Daddy thought the same.  None-the-less, I like that our home has a name even if I think it’s rather humorous. There is something almost Southern Gothic, assuming I am using that phrase correctly, about naming the place where you live.  

A hundred plus years ago, my great grandparents named their home in Eureka Springs "Ravenwood", which I always have thought was just about the coolest thing ever.  It sounded grand to me, like Southfork.  They reared their 7 children at Ravenwood, and my parents reared their brood of 7 at Peckerwood.  I enjoy that parallel.  And just so you don’t think I am living in some Arkansan version of the Dynasty house, let me be clear.  This house is no manse adorned with columns and an oak-lined drive.  It is, however, full of its own charms and a wealth of memory fills its walls.  I never imagined I would be living here again, but here am I and happily so.

It has been a very busy past two weeks at work and at home. While all of my stuff has been stored in Mama's house since I moved from Dallas, it was all boxed up. It has taken me far longer than I anticipated to unpack, which is due in part to the ridiculous amount of crap I have accumulated over the years. Really, some of this stuff I look at and think, "Seriously? How did this not get pitched? Why did I ever buy this thing?" Ah...the privilege of having too much.

I've thought quite a good bit about the "stuff" I’ve gathered.  I've wondered why I don't live with less.  Why do we hang things on our walls? Why do we have rugs on our floors?  Why do I think I need 497 wine glasses?  There is a line between reflection on what I need & want and what I call a sense of overwrought American guilt.  Still, I can't help but be reminded of all the people both in our own country and around the world and what they need and don't have. Once my mind gets going on this track I sometimes find myself thinking crazy things like, “I should get rid of it all!  Shouldn’t I be doing something different here?” After all Jesus told his disciples to sell their possessions and give to the poor.  Whoa!  Once I get rolling… say “hello” to OCD BriGuy! After I dig myself out of this morass of musings, I decide I can't help where I was born; it's not really a moral issue that I have a lot of table lamps, and I go on about my merry way. Sound exhausting?  Well, it sure can be, but it’s who I am, how I’m wired. 

So, stuff is mostly unpacked, mostly put away, and I am able to sit at my desk to blog, and I am thankful for it.

It is a crisp morning. I awoke earlier than usual, started my coffee and took a hot cup out on the back deck which overlooks a wooded and densely underbrush-filled two or so acres. Just after walking outside, I spied a deer running through the woods, except I didn’t know it was a deer.  He was really going at a quite a clip considering the tangles of honeysuckle and all the walls of privet hedge he was pushing through. At first I thought it was the neighbors’ dog, Nick. I called out “Nick”, and the deer stopped and turned to face me, and then I knew it was a deer.  He was a pretty deer (or should I say handsome?).  He had 3 points on the left side of his rack and 2 on the right and two center points. My first thought was "I wish I had a shotgun." Really? Where did that come from? The last time I was in the deer woods I was probably 11 or 12. I've never been a hunter, so it was so strange that my first thought was about shooting the deer. My friends in Pittsburgh whose yard is overrun with the creatures probably have the same thought but more in an extermination kind of way, whereas I was thinking about how good fresh venison would be. Again, really? So not BriGuy....or is it? Is this BriGuy's new self in Arkansas?  

As I have told my friends in Steel City, you can keep deer out of your yard by peeing outside, but to-date they have not heeded my counsel.  I learned this handy trick from the mother of one of my dearest friends.  Once, while visiting their home, my friend’s mother announced to all the men in the house that if we needed to use the bathroom, we were to go outside and pee around her garden because the deer were eating up her veggies.  This happened just before she took me outside to meet her crows which by the way came to her “caw”ling.  It was rather impressive.  Is that Southern Gothic? 

The framing biz is going well, and I continue to enjoy the work.  Owner has been super helpful in her instruction.  Whenever there is a problem with a frame, which can happen due to warped moulding, moulding construction etc., I tend to think I jacked it up.  Thankfully, Owner has been able to determine where the issues truly lie, which has not been with my methods, and give me good instruction on how to navigate around similar icebergs I might encounter in the future. 

I continue to be amazed at the number of people who trust me to make decisions for them about mats and frames.  Not in a thousand years would I let someone else do that for me.  I take it as a compliment, but I do find myself wondering, “what if they hate it?”  Well, I just have to redo it I suppose.  Having someone give me control of which frame and mat will be used does tend to make me go into creative hyper-drive.  I find myself thinking about how I could craft a new moulding or refinish an existing moulding, or how I could create a new mat.  While that might sound completely insane, and probably is a bit, I actually love that part of it.  A friend here in town is going to teach me how to make moulding, and I can hardly wait.  I will have to get over my fear of bladed, potentially limb-removing power tools, but I can do that.   

 

 

For The Love Of The Frame

Away From The World

If you haven't already bought the new Dave Matthews Band album, you should.  It is, in the words of my friend DB, "stellar".  Go to iTunes and buy it right now.  It was while jamming to their new album (for about the 1100th time) that I think I might have fallen in love with framing.  It's been a short courtship to be sure.  That said, I have always heard people say things like, "if you love what you do then it isn't work."  "You should do what makes you happy, and it won't feel like work."   I understand intellectually these platitudes and sentiments, but being somewhat of a pessimist (at least in this regard), I have secretly thought, "Yeah, right.  Like that really happens.  Work is work." 

I have always worked a lot.  Even when I was working at the Western Sizzlin, I worked a lot.  Maybe I just like to work.  Probably do, but who really knows.  My relationship to work has been a recurring thought of late.  More often than not in the course of my career a 40 hour work week would have seemed like a vacation.  I worked at work; I worked at home; I worked on vacation.  (Yes, I realize there is some sort of insanity in those statements.  And to be fair, I have had vacations where I didn't work or even check my email, like maybe 3, but that counts). 

Usually when I work, my style is to have many things going at once.  It has been a requirement of the job.  I had to know every single thing that was going on with every single deal in the pipeline especially the closer it got to closing.  Knowledgable, ready response across a myriad of deals was an expection of my clientele and my employers, unwritten as it might have been.   As such, that has been my M.O., and honestly, it suited me.  My brain seems to work better when there is some madness in the mix. A sense that "it' can't be done, but it must be done" seems to have been a constant.  Frenetic functioning is a gift I have, if one can call it that.  Regardless, it has served me well in some respects.  But there is a down side.  Working like that is a little crazy.  Something is off about it.  I see it now, but long before I saw it clearly, I felt it.  There is some motivation inside that need to work that is not exactly right, but I'm figuring it out.

Part of my venture into the framing business was an attempt to save myself, well, from myself.  Granted one can work for work's sake in any business or profession, but with this gig, I was have been motivated by a clear vision of how things could be different for me, different in a way that could help me be a better me.  As I told Owner at the outset, thinking about owning the frame shop looked like hope to me.  I particularly needed a big shot of hope when this all came together considering my last position in the terror, I mean title and escrow business.  So what in the world does all this have to do with Dave Matthews?  I'll tell you.

Last week I had an unexpected but welcome experience.  I was in the back of the shop making frames - doing some light sanding in preparation of joining a frame and totally jamming out to Dave Matthews; doo rag on, tunes cranked.  I was in my zone, and it was awesome.  I knew what I had to do, and I was getting it done.  Then out of the clear blue as the lyric "you can't get too much love" rang in my ears, I had a realization, a moment of clarity where time seemed to stop and invite me to enjoy this morsel.  I was having fun, and I felt like I was falling in love all at once.  And then it hit me, "AND I'm working!"  Whoa.  What a radical shift.  Boy did that seem weird.  Was I having real fun?  Yes, real fun.  Falling in love with it?  Like feel it in your belly love?  Yep, same thing.  It was love like a good hug, and it was fun like playing with Lincoln Logs or Legos, riding my bike fun, having cocktails with my friends kind of fun.  I can honestly say I don't think I've ever had that sensation while working - NEVER ever. 

Now, being overly-analytical-BriGuy, naturally, I tried to examine what I loved and what made it fun.  A little bit killed the moment, but not entirely.  Was I into chopping?  Joining the frame?  Working on a bunch of different stuff at once, moving from project-to-project?  Well, it was all of it.  The whole process was engaging me.  But then it became obvious: I was enjoying using my head and my hands to craft a thing of beauty.  Creating beauty is what I was loving, and that was the fun.   

I will probably always have a tendency to work too much.  But if you know me, you know I'm an intense guy, and maybe a bent toward working too much just part of who I am.  Temperance is necessary to be sure, but let me say this:  If I am going to work too much, I would sure as hell rather be making frames than dealing with easement and zoning issues for the ungrateful owner of a car parts store or a hotel I'll never step foot in! 

They call the framing business "The Happy Business", and I think I'm finding out why.  And with that, I'm off to bang out some frames, make some people happy (including myself) and have a little fun. 

Better Angels of Political Framing?

I'm attending a political fundraiser tonight.  It's not a pie supper like I used to go to when my dad was campaigning, dang it!  I loved those.  Best pies ever.  I've been to many political events, but this one is different.  This event is for a man whose party affiliation is different from mine.  Not just his party affiliation is different, but his stance on certain issues which are near and dear to me is 180 degrees different.  I must say I never thought I, of all people, would ever agree to attend such an event.  Offhand, it seems out of character for me, but at second glance maybe not so much.  I'm looking at this a bit as if I have been asked to frame the ugliest thing I have ever seen.  Would I frame it even though I don't like it?  You bet I would.  For starters, I'm in the business of framing! 

It makes sense I really like to frame things I personally find appealing and that match my own aesthetic.  Framing something I don't particularly like? Well, that can present a challenge. It is with these projects that I have to "cross the aisle", so to say.   As a framer my role is to use my sense of proportion, scale and color theory to create something the customer finds to be lovely, something that works for her, that makes her smile inside and out.

Personally, in order for me to be effective in almost anything I do, I need information.   I need details, and I need to see the big picture.  Creating a connection between BriGuy and fill-in-the-blank, is necessary for me to be effective.  I've never accepted "just because" as a reason or an explanation.  I need a broader view in order for me to comprehend a more focused view.  In framing the first step is to have a conversation about the "thing".   "Do you have any ideas about what you want it to look like?"  "Who made it?" "Where did it come from?" Why is it important to you?" "Where is it going to hang?"   Catch my drift?  Information helps me apply my skills more deftly. I am committed to providing quality products of which I am proud, and I am committed to having happy customers.  To do that, sometimes I have to set aside for a bit my own viewpoint/opinion in order to gain a clearer perspective.

So back to tonight's event...why am I going to attend?  Good question.  I've been asking myself the same thing.  I guess it comes down to this:  if I really believe what I say, which is we all benefit from collaboration & conversation versus polarization & exclusion, then I should go.  "All politics are local."  That's what they say.  If that's true, then I have even more of a reason to attend.  To be honest, I don't know many people across the aisle from me, not really.  I may know who some are, but we don't talk.  We don't have conversations. I have preconceived notions about what kind of people "they" are.  Seems to me that kind of living and thinking isn't working too well for us. 

People like to be in a herd.  I get it.  I like to be surrounded by people who are like-minded, who agree with my positions.  Who doesn't?  BUT, and that's a big but, how can any of us expect our representatives to be civil, engaged with each other and much less effective, if we ourselves cannot do the same within our own communities?

I know this post might be kinda preachy which isn't the aim, but this is my blog after all.  I went back-and-forth on whether to share it or not.  And I know my thoughts may seem rather Pollyanna-ish and a little pie-in-the-sky.  I guess I am an idealist.  But so what?  Ideals are what drive people.  Who does it hurt to think about the possibility of people with disparate beliefs interacting, conversing and believing that by doing so we might actually forge benefits for us all?

Bottom line:  if we can't/don't talk to folks in our own communities who have differing beliefs and opinions, how would or why should we expect our elected officials to act any differently?  Change happens from the inside out.  If we stay away from each other, become enemies, what good can that possibly bring?

Neurotic Balance

The more I frame and the more I blog, the more I am aware of what I call my neuroses or OCD me.  Clearly, I am a bit type "A".  Some who are reading this may chuckle at that and think, "a bit?".  Hey, I no longer have marks on my closet rod where the hangers should go.  Progress?  Indeed.  While I don't wholly lament my tendencies toward perfectionism, I do see some of the limitations and challenges of the same.  I am also aware that having a perfectionistic bent can be handy as it can push one toward succeeding and toward mastery.  Without the aid of OCD me, do you think I would have spent an hour cleaning an 8x10 piece of glass?  No, I don't either because that is crazy with a "K"!   

That being said, a particular challenge for me is not being too hard on myself and maintaining realistic expectations.  (See previous blog post)  As a manager of people, I would never expect an employee to have gained a comprehensive knowledge and understanding of a new line of work in only a matter of weeks.  It seems I should give myself the same consideration, right?  Well, I don't.  At least I don't without conscious thought and concerted effort.  Owner has never said she was displeased with my work.  In fact, she has said the opposite which helps me be less of a taskmaster to myself.  In fact, her encouragement helps me believe I just might become a good framer and retailer after all!

Yesterday, I was charged with cutting moulding for a few projects we needed to get completed.  After measuring, measuring again, measuring again, measuring again and yes, measuring again, I cut.  In joining the lengths, I ran into a problem.  The corners are supposed to line up on top, along the spine and on the bottom of the frame, but mine did not.  Curses, I say!  Curses!  I asked Owner for assistance.  NOTE:  OCD people and true perfectionists don't ask for help.  (BriGuy's Guide to Psychological Dysfunctions; to be released 2013).  Owner explained what seemed to be causing the misaligned corners.  Ugh.  I thought I had checked that.  In fact, I was sure I had checked it, but obviously I hadn't.  Mind spinning, frustration building, I had to walk away.  Since I'm blogging about this 24 hours later, obviously, it had some effect on me.  Some time later, after completing a different project, I had to leave a little early to meet the bug man at my mother's house.  BUT I was coming back.  I was going to win this little war of framer vs. misaligned moulding! 

I arrived back at the shop a little after sixish to settle this once and for all.  Straight-backed and exuding confidence, I walked to the workroom to meet the joiner and moulding for the showdown.  Imagine my surprise when I found a note, written on scrap mat board of course, from Owner lying beside the offending moulding, stating, "6:00.  I had the same problem.  We'll deal with it tomorrow."  Huge sigh of relief.  HUGE! 

If the woman who has framed original Picassos and who has been doing this for 33 years is having the same difficulty as I, then maybe this situation was beyond BriGuy's control.  What a radical notion!  So, today, I will remember that not everything can be known and not everything can be controlled.  And now I set out to start this framer guy's day encouraged that a little crazy can make a good framer, but a lot of crazy will just make you crazy. 

Math & Mental Maladies

I spoke too soon.  I suffered my first framing accident resulting in bodily harm.  I was cutting glass.  Actually, I was slivering glass - just the word slivering causes my stomach to turn a bit.  Anyway, in the process of slivering, my hand slipped and then the blood.  I don't really have a blood phobia, but I don't really cotton to it flowing freely from my own body either.  I didn't so much cut myself as remove a large portion of skin from my right ring finger.  Of course it hurt like the dickens, but I persevered.  Saturday was my sister's birthday, and I was framing a gift for her - a picture she drew as a child - when the injury occurred.  Lucky for me Owner has a ready stash of band aids which I found without too much of a search.  The thought had crossed my mind I might have to MacGyver a bandage out of leftover mat board and scotch tape! 

Saturday, I completed my first project for a paying customer on my own.  I did it all.  Cut the mats and moulding, joined the frame, cut the glass and fit everything together.  I would like to say that it all went smashingly well without complication, but alas, I cannot.  Thankfully, I have a full head of hair so all the attempts at removing it during the process are scarcely noticeable.  The problem began with fractions.  (If any math teacher I ever had is reading this, I apologize. You were right: I shouldn't have talked during class).  I didn't like fractions in the 3rd grade, the 7th grade or now.  Fractions are confusing to me.  This is a malady I come by naturally.  My parents, both well-educated, told a story from their early married life in which they were trying to figure out what 1/2 of 2/3's is or maybe it was what 1/3 plus 1/3 is.  At any rate, it took them way too long to get it figured out.  So you see, I am at least the second generation of inadequate fractioneers.   

If I had any clue what a centimeter really looked like, I would be all for the metric system.  All this 5/8" plus 1/4" stuff really is just for the birds.  Sorry birds.  That said, I have got to get over my issues with fractions since pretty much everything I do involves fractions and sometimes converting them to metric.  We measure and cut everything, except mats, using the Imperial system or standard measurements (seems odd that it's called "standard" since we are the only country still using it, but whatev).  While working on this particular project on my own, I got just the tiniest bit frustrated with the math.  I had to get Owner to intervene, and then I got just an eencey, teencey bit, just a smidge I assure you, agitated with myself for not understanding instantly and precisely every single flipping thing Owner was explaining to me.  I mean, let's be reasonable.  I've been doing this framing gig for almost two months, I should be an expert, right?!  Yeah, I know that's pretty crazy, but that's how I roll - sometimes.  Thankfully, I got over my crazy long enough to get the pieces cut and assembled.  It really looked beautiful.  Before I put on the backing, the final step, I looked at the almost finished product with a fair amount of pride.  I should have been proud.  I had sustained injury and endured; I experienced extreme mental duress and persevered, and I broke the chains of fraction hell to win the day!  I added the backing, put on the hangers, and voila!  C'est finit!   

Not so fast kemosabe.  While admiring my handiwork, I noticed a tiny, little piece of something inside the glass.  (NOTE:  any unwanted particle in the framing biz is called a "booger".  Totally gross, but it is what it is).  So, here in my finished product was a booger.  A tiny black speck staring at me and practically laughing right in my face.  It was probably imperceptible to most, but it was all I could see.  Nothing to do but rip the backing off and get this right.  I did just that.  Ripped of the backing, removed the offending booger, sealed 'er up again only to be faced with other boogers that had crept in from nowhere with the singular purpose of taunting me.  Twice more I "finished", and twice more I battled the boogers, driving them off my mat and out of my frame until finally victory was mine! 

The piece turned out beautifully.  All the parts, handsome in their own right, came together creating a whole that was much more beautiful than simply the sum of its fraction-laden parts.  The final test in successful framing is, of course, customer satisfaction.  I am happy to report, the customer was well-pleased.  Plop plop fizz fizz...

I'm pretty sure there is a lesson in all of this, ok, I'm certain of it.  Lessons learned:   1) Blood in inevitable. After all, framing is dangerous.   2) Fractions really are the Devil.  3) Ridiculous expectations of oneself are just that: ridiculous.  4) Quality products take time to make (and sometimes many attempts!) 5) Cut yourself some slack but not your finger.

Lighter Fluid & Razor Blades

Memory is short.  I completely forgot the havoc Arkansas allergens wreak on me.  I know it's autumn in Arkansas when I get shut down by allergies.  By shut down, I mean the kind of allergic reaction that forces one to bed for a couple of days, zaps him of all energy and generally renders him useless.  I had forgotten about this minor inconvenience of the Natural State.  Thankfully, I have been able to obtain some meth-making chemicals (formerly known as nasal decongestants),  some vitamins, and antihistamines to assist in my battle against the considerable downside of this particular sort of allergic reaction.
 
Note to non-Arkansans:  If you suffer from allergies and are ever traveling to Arkansas bring Mucinex D or any other "D" variety meds with you because without a prescription you cannot get any decongestants containing the all-important "D".  While I'm sure this requirement was intended to assist in the battle against meth production, it is a total bummer for the 99% of people who buy these kinds products for their intended use.  

All that to say, I am feeling more like myself thanks to a neighborly doctor and my friends at C&D Drug. 

Last I wrote, I was explaining the difficultly of glass cleaning in the framing world.  Believe or not, it gets more complicated.  I know!  Can you believe that?  I know what you are surely thinking, "Unbelievable!, Say ain't so!"  Friend, I'm afraid it is true. 

Yesterday, I found myself refitting a new mat with existing frames and glazing for a customer.  Before I could put everything together, naturally, the glass had to be cleaned.  I began the process using Owner's secret Windex recipe, the every handy paper towel and gloved hands.  Much to my chagrin, it became quickly apparent, this glass was not getting clean.  I needed backup.  Owner suggested I try some lighter fluid.  (Side note:  lighter fluid pretty much will get anything off anything.  Kind of amazing really.  Warning:  I was already feeling a little high from the Mucinex D and the lighter fluid fumes probably added to it considering my liberal use of the stuff inadvertent as it was.  Dangers await the framer at nearly every turn - glass shards, deadly fumes, limb-removing blades.  This can be a treacherous business, but onward I go.)
Unfortunately, not even the lighter fluid removed all the nasty from the glass.  Again, I asked Owner-Wan Kenobi  for direction.  She inspected the glass and quickly took a razor blade to it.  (Side note 2:  razor blades litter a frame shop.  We use them all the time for all sorts of tasks.  They are quite handy and useful; basically razor blades rock.  And so far, I've managed not to cut myself despite having tried to use one blade side up just the other day.  Oops!)  True to my experience, the razor blade did the trick.  Handy indeed!  Using the razor blade I was able to clean the glass to my satisfaction, well, almost to my satisfaction.  Owner agreed it was clean, but I had the niggling feeling that I probably could have done a little more; however, I had spent nearly an hour on two 8x10 pieces of glass.  I needed to be finished.  Chances are they were clean despite my Yoda-like intuition to the contrary.  After all, I am still but a padawan-learner.     

Glazed and Confused

Tools of the Trade

Glass cutting is a fairly simple task given the correct tools, which I daresay is true for almost any task. Proper equipment just makes a job easier. Think how hard it would have been for the Egyptians to build the pyramids without having enslaved the Israelites? That’s not exactly a great comparison and working with glass isn't quite like pyramid building, but it’s all relative. 

In the framing biz, there are lots of little details that have to be right before the job is done, and glass cleaning is a big 'little detail'.  For people like me these details could become crazy-making.  There really isn’t such a thing as glass that’s cleaned “well enough”.  It’s either clean or it isn’t.   

Glass cleaning is a process, and it is not as easy as one might think, and unlike some I don't have the option of saying, "I don't do windows."

Working with new glass is not so bad. In fact there really is very little cleaning involved with new glass, if any. New glass arrives in boxes, separated by sheets of paper, and it is clean upon receipt.  I think they must package it in a clean room. Our main goal when working with new glass is to keep it clean.  In an effort to keep the new glass clean, we have some very stylish gloves, I mean really chic, to wear while handling it. The gloves keep fingerprints and dirt off the glass. Pretty nifty.   

Yesterday, I was working with some unboxed glass, and therefore it was not clean. So BriGuy had to get it clean.  Feeling self-assured as a veteran window cleaner, I thought, “No problem, got the gloves, got the homemade Windex*.  Gonna TCB!”  I was going to get the job done: botta bing botta boom – done! Well....it was a bit more like botta "are you kidding me?"  My process went something like this: clean one side, clean other side, use air gun to blow off remaining particles and dust, see smudge/dirt spot, clean again, turn over, see another smudge/dirt spot, clean again and on and on. After 10 or so minutes dancing this glass cleaning tango, my Einstein-like mind figured it out: the gloves only keep the glass clean if the gloves are clean. See how that works? Clean gloves, clean glass; dirty gloves, dirty glass.  It was an astounding discovery.  All that to say, dirty glass is frankly...a pain in the glass! (Cheap, I know, but it was right there).

While our super sexy glass gloves really are excellent tools, they aren’t made of Kevlar or chainmail so they don't protect against broken glass cutting into a blood vessel or jabbing into any vital organ. No, I didn't get cut. I almost got cut. Really it was more like I almost got impaled.

I was working with a rather large piece of glass, which I had just painstakingly cleaned, and I was about to set it in the frame when it broke. It broke into two pieces one of which was quite pointy, in that broken bottle used as a weapon kind of way and aimed directly at my abdomen. It scared me nearly to death. If you've ever had a car wreck, you know those moments when it’s happening and you can do nothing and your mind is racing? Well, it was kinda like that. In the split second between the sound of the crack and the actual separation, I had a million thoughts in my mind.  I was certain a red sea was soon to be born out of me, right then and there.  I remember thinking, “Please, please, please don't cut me.  Really, I don't want to bleed, no cuts! Ok, if you are cut, don't throw up and for god’s sake, don't have diarrhea!”  Lucky for me and for Owner and anyone else who might have entered the shop thereafter, my response was to remain still and calm. I did not yell.  I did not scream.  Not one, single expletive crossed my lips. (For real; not a single cuss word. Didn't even think one. No, I'm not lying. Yes, this is the Brian).  Although I was almost certain I had cut my hand, I had not. I just lost a small piece of skin from my gloved finger.    

So you see framing can be a dangerous business.  Between the vicious chopper, that wraith ever lurking and ever ready to cut with it's blades of power and the insidious, harrowing hazards of glazing, we framers must navigate carefully in our quest to get it right.  Like Frodo and Sam, Owner and I move on. 

 

*Owner makes homemade glass cleaner.  Funny thing is, I have done the same since long before I ever worked at the Frame Shop & Gallery.  Peas from the same pod?  Often, I think so and happily.



Back in the saddle

Sunset over Lake Dardanelle
taken by Robert Herron

Three weeks ago Owner's husband was hit by a truck while he was riding his bike.  Thankfully, he didn't suffer any major injuries, and he has mended, but the event gave me great pause about riding my bike on the road. 

Last week a friend of mine invited to me to ride with him.  He is an accomplished cyclist, and I, on the other hand, am not.  I was pleased that he asked me to join him, but I must admit my acceptance was not without some trepidation owing to Owner's husband's experience.  We survived the ride without incident save my near expiration while climbing a very steep and seemingly unrelenting hill, no, a mountainside.  Cruising back to our beginning point,  we were graced with a view of a most audacious sun regaled in shocking pinks and brilliant orange.   We pedaled on and watched our sustaining star sliding off the horizon pushing it's last rays across the lake and mountains like paint on a canvas.  It was a perfect way to end the day.  Since that ride, I am happy to report, I have been back in the saddle.  I wanted to get riding back into my routine, and now I have. 

Part of my daily routine has always included coffee.  Some might call me devoted to coffee.  To quote a dear friend, "Coffee is a commitment."  So true.  I have morning coffee, mid-morning coffee, after lunch coffee, mid afternoon coffee, getting ready to leave work coffee.  I love coffee.  That said, once I leave the house, I rarely finish a cup of coffee.  Usually, I get one or two nice, hot swigs and promptly forget where I set my cup down.  It goes something like this:  Pour cup of coffee, set cup down; forget where cup is; cuss; find cup later, unwittingly take drink of cold coffee, cuss again, pour coffee out, fill cup up again.  Repeat.  (I have a similar routine for car keys and wallet).  The point is this:  coffee has always been part of my routine and unless something drastic happens to change that, it always will be.  So imagine my surprise when I first arrived at The Frame Shop & Gallery and discovered there was no coffee maker.  I let it slide for a while thinking I could make do with something else.  I drink water anyway, but I tried iced tea, fancy vitamin water.  Really?  As if over-priced water or iced tea could begin to fill coffee's shoes!  Eventually, I couldn't continue the charade.  I couldn't continue lying to myself.  Who was I kidding?  It wasn't working.  Saturday, I put an end to my coffee infedility, and I brought in my own coffee pot.  After all, coffee is a commitment.  I might not have my entire routine down yet, but I am getting there a pedal and a cup at a time.

Moonwalking

One of the best parts of being back home is, as I have said before, the people I get to see.  This week I got to see my Jr. English teacher, Mrs. F.  She was a hoot, and despite being a fairly tough teacher, she made us laugh, and we had a good time in her class.  She rolled along with the antics of 16/17 year olds with relative ease, and she sure knew how to shut me up when my constant commentary hit the level of totally obnoxious.  It was great fun to visit with her.  While Mr.s F was in, Owner encouraged her to read this blog.  Subsequently, I encouraged Mrs. F to keep her red pen out of reach when reading; I wouldn't want her to mess up her monitor. 

 

I have often thought of Mrs. F through the years when writing.  She stressed to us the importance of word choice, or "WC" as she referred to it.  Countless times I saw on my graded papers a red circle or slash with "WC" out to the side.  I don't know that I have ever truly been adept at "WC", but I do try.  Ok, sometimes I try.  Regardless, "WC" has always been funny to me.  "WC", water closet, toilet and from there, I'll spare you.  I think my adolescent humor is best shared between other adolescent 40 year old boys. 

 

Today, The Frame Shop & Gallery took one small step, but it is a giant leap for Ownerkind.  We began the process of implementing a Point of Sale system, Lifesaver, that will provide us the ability to process sales, institute an inventory control system, and place orders with our suppliers!  Replacing a system that has been used for 33 years is no small feat, but we are going to move forward undaunted by the enormity task at hand.  This is the dawning of the age of Lifesaver at The Frame Shop & Gallery, and I am happy to be part of the sunrise.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Frame Them!

I began my day yesterday determined 1) I was not going to lose any appendages and 2) that when I left the shop I would be able to measure and cut moulding, join it, measure and cut mat and glass and fit them all together in a final product.  And that's just exactly what I did. 

First off, I am typing with all 10 digits.  I was not the victim of chopper molestation, thankfully.  Every time I put a piece of moulding on the beast, I thought "don't put your fingers by the blades, don't put your fingers by the blades", in a Rainman-esque fashion but without all the nodding.  I listened to myself, and all turned out well for my hands. 

The first frame I made was crooked, and that is a kind description.  I forced it together.  It looked entirely pathetic.  I couldn't show it to Owner because it was too awful.  That said, I didn't throw it away.  In fact, I intend to keep it on my desk as a reminder of where I started.  Perhaps it can be a sort of talisman for good framing.  For a bit I studied the sad little lopsided frame for clues on where I went wrong, what I could do to improve.  I made mental notes that went something like this:  learn how to use a ruler!  Measure twice, cut once.  It's embarrassing to admit, I think I measured about five times, and I still got it wrong.  Oh well, it is practice, right? 

For my second attempt at frame-making, I chose a different moulding from the stash of rejects Owner had set out for my practice.  This time I measured and cut properly.  Relief.  It was the joining of the pieces where I went awry.  In the joining process the moulding is held together at the corners via an underpinning method.  Important Note:  One cannot see where the pin is going in on the moulding since it is, you got it, underpinned.  Now that seems fairly obvious and simple, I agree; however, I managed to, not once, not twice, BUT three times completely miss the moulding when trying to join it.  The concept of "under" seemed to be foreign to me.  On the fourth attempt, I was golden.  After a slow start (read slow as in pace of the work and operation of the brain) I pinned three corners in a flash like I had been doing this my whole life.  But as is often the case for those who get a little too big for their britches a little too quickly, on corner four I blew it.  I was crusin along, feeling all good and thinking, "yep, I've got this, I'm just bangin out some frames.  Pretty much frame-maker", and then it happened.  Erupting through the moulding came one of the joining pins.  Yes, it popped right out on top for the world to see.  Frame ruined or rurnt if you prefer.

By frame three, I really did have it down.  I cut it, joined it and cleaned it up, and that frame went on the sale table.  Naturally, I thought it should be about a $100 item because, well, it was my first good frame and it was gold, so you can imagine my surprise when Owner wrote a big red $9 on the back, and it's half-off of that.  Ok, I knew it wasn't a $100 frame since it was 5"x5", but a guy can dream.

I continued the day waiting on customers, taking orders, doing the regular FramerGuy stuff and I was making frames when I had the time.  After we closed, I was ready to see if I could do it all, start to finish.  I picked an item to frame, selected a mat, decided on a frame and set to work.  While I still have a bit of anxiety about being becoming an expert framer, I feel encouraged.  One day after deciding that I had to get this figured out, I did it.  So here it is, my first framed piece which I did in the words of Eric Carmen, "all by myself".  Not bad lemonade from where I'm sitting.        


The would not be amputee

The backroom/"attic" is cleaned up and the SALE is on.  Everything seems to be moving smoothly except for one more snag in the framing school saga.  I was informed yesterday there is no more room at the Denver framing school inn, which I had finally decided I would attend.  Despite my valiant attempt at persuasion (i.e. begging) and my willingness to accept even second-rate placement, I remain without a framer's school.  After that discovery, Owner and I had a quick chat about exactly what it is I need to be able to do frame-making-wise.  Somewhere in my head the gears shifted.  This has to get fixed, and it has to get fixed now.  I've tried to get into a framing school, and it hasn't worked, so it's time for me to take the bull by the horns or the moulding by the rabbet to put it in framing jargon.  I'm going to have to make it happen, and make it happen I will.  Owner has showed me the basics of measuring for and cutting a mat, how to join a frame, how to cut moulding and fit the frame with picture, mat and glazing.  Now, I have to perfect the skills.  Practice, practice practice!  Owner set out several mouldings on which I can practice, and I hope not to lose any digits in the process.  I'm crossing my fingers while I still have them.   

The Chopper!
Its blades are concealed
by plexi panels an allusion to safety.
I am not fooled.

The moulding cutter or CHOPPER is a terrifying beast with a mouth bearing two 6" long incisors ready to slice through whatever finds its way to its trap.  Literally these two teeth are giant razor blades that could quite easily sever a finger from a hand.  It would be a very nice 45 degree angle cut, but I hardly think that is a consolation for the loss of a body part.

One might have picked up on the fact that I have a little trepidation and anxiety about the chopper.  My concerns are twofold:  1) don't want to cut off a finger and 2) don't want to make bad cuts.  Losing a finger is just bad, period.  But think of  losing the ability to use the international symbol of disapproval!  That can be so handy in traffic.  Bad cuts mean joining is sloppy if even it is possible which means I should have just lit some cash on fire.  I think I can get through it.  After all since I don't have a framing school to go to yet, I have to get this all figured out.  The need to be TCB is high.  I feel certain I will have to be wearing a doo rag. 

I think I'll be pretty good at joining the frames since it requires a good deal of precision.  Plus, I really like things that fit together correctly.  I feel confident about mat cutting and the final fitting.  Cutting the glass doesn't scare me like it did now that the big cutter is operational.  We shall see how things progress, but I am hopeful about a good outcome. 

Owner doesn't think she is a very good teacher, but I disagree.  She doesn't beat the issues to death, and she is happy to set me out on my own to figure it out, which I prefer.  I have always far preferred learning by doing with a modicum of instruction.  I can always ask questions, and I am not working on anything to start with that a customer will ever see.   All-in-all, I'm feeling pretty good about how things are moving along.  So with that, I am headed to the shop where I hope we sell lots of frames and mats in the sale, and I hope I come home with all digits undisturbed! 

Thinkin 'bout the good stuff!

Last week I got to meet a young woman who made me think about all that's good in this world.  So often it seems we/I focus on the failures of our society.  When I think that 1 in 8 families in the US is dealing with hunger, I'm well aware something is definitely out of kilter, and there is much work to do; however, from time-to-time, I think the human psyche, individually and collectively, needs some motivation, a pat on the back, an "atta boy or girl".  I know mine sure does.  It's easy to see so many things around us that need to be made better. The ever-present need for instant gratification, makes it difficult to perceive "the arc of the moral universe" and its bent toward justice, and we, I, need a reminder of its course.  I want to take this moment to tell you about some of the good in this world.

Nichole Ledford is the first owner of a Habitat for Humanity home in Pope County.  I had heard about Nichole, but I had not met her.  Habitat as a movement has always made good sense to me.  Meeting Nichole only confirmed my belief in the organization.  Nichole is a single mother of 4 children, the oldest of whom is 10.  Shortly after being widowed the family's home was destroyed by a fire.  Nichole applied to Habitat and was chosen.  Together, they built a house, and now she has set about the business of making it a home for her family. 

Nichole came in the shop last week to pick out some art for the new house.  As she perused the prints, many of which were Arkansas scenes, she was naming the locations.  She was recalling briefly times past when she had been camping at such-and-such with so-and-so.  She was remembering happy days.  That made me smile with and for her, well and for me too because I was getting to witness it.  What I loved most about her was the sense of hope she exuded.  Here was a woman looking toward her future full-on when by all rights she could easily have been chained to her past.  That's impressive.  She found her print, mat and frame, and as Owner was getting all that together, Nichole and I began to visit.  We talked about the work of building the house, how she had done more things than she could have ever imagined.  She never saw herself hanging drywall or laying tile, but the pride and gratefulness in her speech and on her face made me think, "this is good.  really, really good". 

Having met Nichole, hearing her story, learning of her determination to move forward made me just plain feel good deep in my bones.  I was proud of the community where I live.  I was heartened to know that we can make a difference; we DO make a difference for good and justice in this world, and what a difference it can be.  I was super happy that she found a piece of art that made her happy, and that would help make her new house become her new home. 

Learn more about Habitat For Humanity here:  http://www.habitat.org

The 3 "R's": Retail, Recycling & ReUsing

We are having a “attic” sale, in case you haven’t heard, beginning on Sept 17.  I have been charged with getting the attic (storeroom area with a teeny tiny attic space) ready for the sale.  It’s mostly a job of organization, and I'm kind of into that.  OK, who am I kidding?  OCD me is so excited he might pee his pants!  It's like a theme park thrill ride for OCD me.  Imagine all that clearing out, cleaning up, labeling bins and shelves!  Seriously, that is living the dream: a place for everything and everything in its place.   
Since I began working at The Frame Shop & Gallery, I have been aware that Owner is a re-user and a re-purposer of things.  It's a good quality especially in a businessperson.  It was not an oddity to me to discover Owner is a re-purposer because my dad was as well.  She has repurposed many items especially for the storage of scrap moulding.
While working on the attic, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my dad when I saw several big, old, metal coffee cans erupting with some leftover mouldings.  You see, my dad saved a lot of stuff. He saved plastic milk jugs out of which he could make ice blocks for the ice chest or he would fill them with concrete to use as anchors. He saved coffee cans, lots of them, which, in the words of Pooh, can be "a useful pot to put things in". I think he saved every Styrofoam coffee cup he ever got, and he did reuse them sometimes for coffee or to sprout seeds to be transplanted to the garden. He saved pieces of packing Styrofoam to make "corks" (bobbers) to use when fishing.  He was the king of repurposing items, and as such we, his children, often laughingly and lovingly refer to him as "the original recycler". If he could conceive of a way to make an item serve a new purpose, whether that ever came to fruition or not, he saved it.  Were you to open his trunk or look in the bed his truck, you would find any number of things he had saved because he could use it for fill-in-the-blank someday.  Someday rarely comes when you have too much saved stuff as in 143 styrofoam coffee cups.  At some point, it really does just become junk. 

God bless my mother.   

Owner, like my dad, can find a use for almost anything others would likely discard without a second thought. As it happens, I have a bit of the same bent. I wash and reuse Ziploc bags unless they've had onions in them; you will never get that smell out.  I save bubble wrap.  I have actually saved Styrofoam which I reused when packing for my last move.  Don’t misunderstand:  While I appreciate the art of reusing, and I engage in it from time-to-time, I also am a fan of getting rid of extraneous stuff.  My sister might disagree after having seen my garage, but in my defense, there is only so much stuff one can cram in the trash (or recycling bin), and I didn’t have a truck to haul it off.  Regardless, reusing a few milk jugs is one thing, but having a stash of say 10 or 15 is unnecessary.  How many anchors does one man really need?  There’s a fine line between saving for reuse and an audition for “Hoarders”.  Thankfully, Owner doesn’t seem to have my father’s affliction of over-saving everything; we are cleaning house!  Out with the old and in with the new!

Now, I’m off to the shop to make ready the “attic”.  I hope I get to see some of you during the sale.  We have much to offer, and the prices just can’t be beat!  33 Year Attic Sale – Sept 17-22.

Fletch(er) Lives and the Mexican Prison Bus

Upon entering the shop yesterday afternoon, I found a note from Owner written out on scrap mat board with a list of items I was to work on. It looked like a fairly easy list: move a computer, clean out and organize a box of Art Walk supplies, price Velcro dots in bulk, repair point drivers.  Huh? Do what? Repair point drivers?  Do we sell golf clubs?  What IS a point driver?  I was a bit confused. Instead of trying to figure it out immediately, I went ahead with the easy stuff on the list. i.e. those things I actually understood.

Later, in the work area, I noticed a basket full of the staple gun thingies we use to shoot brads in frames to hold mats etc inside the frames.  There were some printed instructions lying there with them. It finally dawned on me through the haze of allergy medication: the staple gun thingies ARE the "point drivers".  (My genius astounds me sometimes.)

Some who know me may not think of me as being particularly handy, and I'm not so sure I would say that I am, but I am fairly determined, and since I had some instructions, I figured I could make it work.

I was reminded of being in Mexico with friends a few years back. We were riding mopeds and found ourselves off the paved road headed toward the jungle.  One of my friends was lagging behind due to a muffler malfunction on his moped. We stopped to wait for him at the head of the jungle path. When he caught up to us, his muffler was dragging on the ground, slowing him down considerably and making crazy noises every bit as annoying as finger nails on a chalkboard but much, much louder. About the same time he caught up, we heard the sound of a truck coming through the jungle, and it was headed toward us. The path we were on was narrow; it was not a road.  What could this be?  Knowing us, it was probably wasn't going to be good.

A large van began to appear.  It was pushing aside banana trees and other jungle flora as it made its way. The hood of the van was painted with several words. The one I recognized was "Policia".  Great.  As the van drew nearer, we could hear the sounds of lots of men yelling. Finally the van was upon us. Where there should have been sides and windows on the van, there were bars! As in prison bars. The van stopped. I have no idea what was being said, but it didn't sound good at all.  The men behind the bars were screaming, shaking on the bars, and it was just the tiniest bit scary. (Thanks Hollywood; job well done). So at this point, I'm thinking, "No freaking way, am I going down like this, and please lord don't let Montezuma’s revenge strike now!"

Not wanting to die in the jungles of Mexico murdered by some lawless criminals or end up in a Mexican prison (again, hats off to Hollywood), I was determined we were going to get the "H" out of Dodge. Pronto! I began examining the moped, and I decided I could fix it. I had a backpack on, and it had an extra strap. Using a stick and a rock for tools, I affixed the muffler (still really hot) to the moped using the strap together with a piece of metal found on the roadside in hopes of preventing the muffler falling off again. Victory! Muffler was repaired, we all lived, and I was given the nickname "MacGyver" for the duration of the trip.  So I figured if I can fix a moped in the middle of the hot, steamy Mexican jungle while being harassed by a busload of criminals, surely I can repair a point driver in an air conditioned building with the aid of instructions and proper tools.
 
Only one of the Fletcher point drivers was operational.  I used that as my baseline for acceptable point penetration into the frame moulding.  With the help of the instructions, I got two of the four non-functioning point drivers fixed in fairly short order; the other two were less cooperative. I decided I would have to go in; surgery was required. As I opened the first one up, a large spring sprung out nearly taking out my eye.  (No, I didn’t wear protective eye gear.  Lesson learned:  Framing can be dangerous; wear eye protection).  After about half an hour in the O.R., I realized the damage could not be repaired.  They both needed a transplant.  Lucky for the point drivers, springs are pretty easy to come by.  They should be good as in new within the next week. 

Sleeping in your tennis shoes

It's a beautiful day in New York City according to the Weather Channel.  I cannot confirm that information personally since I am still in Arkansas.  I missed my flight yesterday morning, and despite many attempts to get on another one, including talking to at least 5 different Delta agents, I was not able to make it happen.  If I had an extra grand to spend on the fair difference, I could have done it.  Pretty much I am completely bummed out about not making the trip, and in truth, I'm a bit heart-sick.  I was looking very forward to spending time with some of my dearest friends.  I have the feeling that I let my friends down, and I really hate that. 

After the Art Walk on Friday, which was a great success by my measure, I went to see some folks here in town.  I got home later than I had intended, but I truly thought I would be able to rally and get myself together.  I woke up at 3:00 AM, as planned, did a couple of things to get ready; sat down on the bed, and next thing I know it was 2 hours later!  Even in what is presumably non-existent predawn traffic, I could not have made the hour plus trip to the airport in time for my 6:00 AM flight.      

When I was in college, working 40 hours a week and taking a full course load, I would often stay up most Thursday nights studying.  Typically, I would go to bed around 4 in the morning or so.  In an effort to make sure I would get up at 8 to make it to class, I would sleep in my tennis shoes.  I have no idea how I stumbled upon that trick or why that seemed to work, but it did.  (I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it probably helped that I was considerably younger then).  Who knows?  At any rate, I tried the same trick Friday night, and it worked.  At least I got up;  I just didn't stay up.  All that to say, I am still in Arkansas having not-so-great feelings about it presently.  Naturally, I want to blame Delta since had I not been bumped from the 10:30 flight, I would have been golden, but Delta didn't stay out too late, and Delta didn't not get up in time to get to the airport.

Lessons learned: BriGuy needs to make reasonable plans and sleeping in tennis shoes isn't a sure thing.  As Daddy always said, "Each day is a do-over" - another chance to get it right.  Onward and upward. 

Art Walk was a blast.  I saw what seemed like scores of people I hadn't seen in years.  I hugged more necks than I have in the previous 5 years combined.  I met and had the chance to visit with a couple of the artists we represent in the gallery.  A hightlight of the night for me:  A woman, whom I know I am supposed to know, who knew me, and so I couldn't ask her name (bad, I know), walked around the gallery showing me some of her favorite works.  Here is what I loved most:  She was admiring what she thought were six or seven new pieces.  I did not tell her that, in fact, those were NOT new pieces; they had just been rehung.  It felt good that all my staring, contemplation and wall vacuuming seemed to have paid off.  Mission accomplished:  people were seeing the art anew.

It was definitely a lot of work to get ready for Art Walk, but it was completely worth it.  It was a great night and fun for all I think.  After it was all said and done, Owner told me this was probably the hardest part of the job.  I smiled inside.  That was further confirmation for me that this just might be the right-est move I have ever made.