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I'm not very good at putting things away. Going on three months after Lesley & Brian's wedding, there is still evidence of it out in plain view. Peter's wedding shoes in which he stood as Man of Honor for his sister are on the living room floor, and Lesley's cleaned and boxed gown sits in the treadmill room. Peter has no need or room for these shoes on the ship, and Lesley & Brian already have more books, pots & pans and clothes than they can accommodate in their small NY apartment. Where would they store this big box, on top of the TV?
We ourselves have too much stuff. Don and I grumble about it now and then.
But let me veer from that thought. Let's look at the stuff. I want to express gratitude for the ones who make it. I look at Peter's beautiful shoes, or Lesley's dreamy gown made by Mika in NY, and when I stop and think of the skill and dexterity it took to make them, I have to pause.
Once when I ventured to Chicago alone for a few hours at the Art Institute, I took lunch in the little garden restaurant. When you eat alone you have to occupy yourself somehow. I had a journal and pen, and before I requested my food, while I ate it, and afterward, I sat and jotted down all the professions involved within my small sphere at that table. There was my waiter, Dan, and the cook, Charlie. A farmer named Joe raised the vegetables and the chicken was probably grown in one of those big factories. Elsa at a pasta company poured ingredients into a big vat to mix the dough. There was the dishwasher Sammy who might have burned his hand with the steamy sprayer. Sarah ran the machine that manufactured the linens after a farmer named Michael grew the flax (read here if you think that's an easy job). Todd designed and laid out the menu and another few people printed and laminated it. Who made the plastic for the lamination? Ellen designed the plates and glasses, and Leiton mixed the ingredients and molded them in just the right process. Lisa in brown delivered the big boxes of heavy dishes to the restaurant at the end of a long day of deliveries, at about 6:30pm. And of course there were many other designers, planners and makers - just around my restaurant table.I have not done any of these things. I've cooked, but not for a whole restaurant. I could probably design a menu. But I would have no clue how to pour the ink into a machine to print it. Have you noticed how we notice mistakes and flaws (Just look at that splotch of ink there!), but rarely do we notice, let alone appreciate, a job well done in the normal realm of daily life?
To make a pair of shoes?! That is an art that has always fascinated me. What a collection of tools a shoemaker must have to craft those gorgeous seams and shape the heel! Look at this shoemaking book illustrating how to "last the back" with pincers, nails, and patience. Or better yet, watch this 3 minute video of a guy making a shoe by hand. See how important his own bare feet are:
I could probably have sewn Lesley's wedding gown, but would she have wanted to wear it? Poor thing. She would have, to please her mother. In the last photo, taken by the wedding photographer Mihaela Avasiloaie, Lesley's gown which was made by Mika, thank goodness, waits for her to put it on behind the spinning wheel that was passed down on my mother's side. Someone made that old piece of technology with their hands - carving, sanding, waxing and assembling so it works (still works). What women spun wool on this wheel? Lesley dreams of raising her own sheep, shearing them and spinning wool for knitted garments she designs. Imagine the satisfaction in the completion of that circle. She won't be doing that in NYC. Some stuff has to be spread out.
Last photo by Mihaela Avasiloaie
