Valuing Things for What They’re Worth

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It’s been a while since my last post, and although there are many things to write about and share of late, this seemed equally as worthy of sharing as anything else. I haven’t yet written much about my artwork yet, but this customer experience just taught me a lot more about what to expect when selling it.

Dear Customer,

Now that your money has been refunded and you have had a chance to have your say more than once now in our dealings together, I would like a chance to have mine.

Let me be clear: I am an artist and craftsperson who, similar to you, works very hard for a living at a point in time when every dollar counts, and time is hard to come by. I put my artwork and crafts on Etsy, which is for people like me, because right now it is not possible to earn my living from my art alone. I make very little money doing this — if, indeed, I make any money at all. Most artists don’t either, unless they’ve found a way to circumnavigate the rules on the site and have their stuff produced at a cheaper cost.

Customers who are likely to say “then don’t do it” are the reason why most artists and artisans in this country have stopped working, selling/making their art, or continue to do it, but then have to have 1 or 2 other jobs to stay solvent: the labor to make things like your bracelet gets shipped overseas and is paid at a very low hourly wage. I have heard many people argue, with good reason, why buy “real art” or artisan made stuff if you can get something “just as good” at Target? Why indeed. In that case — then please just go to Target (or HomeGoods or Walmart) and buy what you want there to decorate your home, or wear on your body. PLEASE don’t purchase it from an artist, whose time, skill and materials are something we’ve all been conditioned not to value.

We don’t, as a society, value labor. It’s something to ship overseas where poor people (who I guess we believe should feel lucky to be employed?) can just do it for cheap wages. As consumers, we just want a good deal for our money so we can consume even more and have things exactly as we want for the precious life’s energy we’ve poured into earning a meager living. Believe me — I totally get it. I really do. I live in the same society and have been conditioned similarly. Let’s face it — you could easily purchase what you are looking for at half the cost if you were to buy it on amazon, target, etc.

If I were a big warehouse operation, getting you what you want for a good price would be my job, as would customer service. I would simply pick up another bracelet from the hundreds in stock and send you a new one and no additional cost and find it easy to be kind, friendly, quick, communicative, etc. — because I would have no part in the making of or production of the item I sent to you. I would not be out any money or time of my own in order to do it, either.

So my recommendation is to do that from now on, and please don’t order anything further from Etsy or another site with those behind it who are actually doing the labor themselves, and who take pride in their work. You aren’t in a position to appreciate it, and the result is a frustrated customer and many frustrated artisans.

Here’s why: It would appear that you must’ve purchased several items from Etsy in search of one that fit what you wanted. The reason I know this is that you emailed me, in advance of your bracelet actually arriving, to tell me how unsatisfactory everything else was that you had purchased, and expressing your disappointment to me, saying that they looked like “kids bracelets”. My only guess is that you were attempting to prepare me for what you thought would be an inevitable rejection.

Amazingly — you liked the bracelet I made for you, but it broke. Although I offered to repair it for free, you insisted not only to pay for the repair (which I didn’t require), but that I use a different type of thread that you believed to be stronger. In order to get what you wanted, you then had special fishing line sent to me at great expense rather than trusting me to know my own work and materials. I haven’t had a single other bracelet like that one break yet, so I can attest to it being a strange fluke. Several people I know wear theirs and have had them for some time — still perfectly in tact. The thread, clearly, is a large part of what made it beautiful, no? Yet despite not being able to use the thread you sent and still providing another solution for you, it is now “the ugliest bracelet you ever saw”, and you just want a refund. I have now provided that to you, which seems like the only reasonable solution — in this particular case.

Although I appreciate your honesty about hating the bracelet and thinking it’s ugly (I tend to value honesty more than hot air) — I also have to admit that it was insulting and not pleasant to hear. The bracelet was ugly because you would not take the advice or expertise I offered to you, and because of my efforts to make things right and closer to what you were asking for.

You have lost little in this transaction besides frustration, time, and a few bucks in shipping when you sent the bracelet back for repair. Since I returned your fishing line to you (which I could not use) and its shipping papers so that you could return it and get a refund, you will hopefully not have lost any money there, either. You also have an ugly bracelet of your very own.

On the OTHER side of this, I am now out cost of the bracelet and its components, which had to be special ordered to make for you since you were ordering a custom-made piece rather than the one shown, which was already made and ready to ship. That also meant purchasing more than the amount of components I would need, so I am out that amount as well. I am out the time that it took to make the bracelet TWICE, and answer all of your emails. I am out the shipping costs, too. In fact, I am easily out far more than the cost of this one “ugly” bracelet.

I have also decided to stop accepting custom requests and to change my shop’s information now, because I keep encountering customers who clearly have a different expectation of what they should be entitled to in their dealings with me than what I am actually able to offer them. You are not the first, just the tipping point for this decision.

I hope, at the very least, this rather lengthy discourse has made it clear why this arrangement between us didn’t go well, and may hopefully, in future, bring you closer to what you actually want. In all honesty, I also hope it opens your eyes a little wider to consider what and how you consume, but it’s actually not my place. I find it hard to keep my mouth shut about certain things these days, but seldom do I ever wish anyone anything but what makes them happy. Do what makes you happy, and at least try not to abuse the time and efforts of others through a lack of awareness. It will save a lot of time and energy for those concerned, including you.

Certainly you taught me a great deal, and opened my eyes to many aspects of dealing with people over the internet that I hadn’t put enough time and effort into. I will be changing my business practices accordingly. As far as that goes, I am at least genuinely grateful for the lesson.

Warmest regards,

Natalie

“For the sake of all beings, get your sh*t together!”

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The last week has been a humbling reminder of why I chose to step away from a particular cultural expectation to which I could no longer safely conform: “busy-ness”.

Being “busy” is stressful. It takes a toll on your health, relationships, peace of mind, and many other things that it’s easy to be distracted from noticing when we’re in the trance of “busy-ness”. I could say a great deal about it, but most of what I would have to offer can most easily be summed up by Thomas Merton:

“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.”

I wish — deeply — that I could say that this isn’t true.

But I can’t.

Right now, I’m doing my utmost to stay presently engaged and mindful. It’s hard work. I’ve been excessively busy of late — taking on too many projects, trying to “help everyone in everything”. My inner capacity for peace has been seriously reduced. Thankfully, I am catching it before it has been destroyed.

The scariest thing about this sort of “violence” is how sweetly and covertly it operates on us. It doesn’t slam into us suddenly, although we often experience its effects in that manner. No — it has a subtle way of luring us, little by little, into doing more and more. . . until we’re running to keep up and so overwhelmed that something has to give under all the weight of obligation. We look frantically for something or someone to blame for our condition, unable to see our part in the whole picture. Like the story so often told about the little froggy who doesn’t realize he’s being boiled alive until it’s too late — we often find ourselves in boiling water wondering when our delightful dip in the hot tub started to scald our flesh.

In my current situation, what’s surprised me the most is the way in which the “busy-ness’ crept up. It’s come from positive, fun, engaging projects that I’ve dreamt of doing for a long time. Building my own home, for example, and finding a way to live that is financially and ecologically sustainable, and that will allow the freedom to make more creative, service-oriented, non-conventional choices so that I can lead a more contemplative life. Exciting art commissions, invitations to direct plays and take part in artistic collaborations, opportunities to mentor younger artists — also things I’ve wanted a part of for quite some time.

In other words — everything I’m taking part in is something I want in my life. They are things I have chosen very mindfully. Things that are in total harmony with the way I’ve re-visioned my life since choosing to walk away from convention and the status quo. And yet — despite this — the effect is as frighteningly the same as it was in an earlier part of my life.

It may seem really extreme to refer to being busy as “violence”. That’s understandable. But when you think about the actual effects of violence, it becomes much harder to deny — regardless of their cause. When we experience the effect of an undeniably “violent” act, for example, we might feel crushed, defeated, afraid, panicked, victimized, anxious, exhausted, traumatized, immobilized, breathless, or gasping for breath. Later on, depending on the source of violence, we might feel depressed, achy, sore, emotional, irrational, angry, indignant, defensive, highly sensitized, overwhelmed, paranoid, jumpy, or unable to leave the house.

At another time in my life, when I was easily motivated into action by the dangling carrot of “success”, the more “violent” aspect of being over-committed was easier to spot. When over-committed, my behavior became cranky, abrupt, and much time was spent with friends and family complaining about how crushed, defeated, angry, overwhelmed, and victimized I felt. There was no space to cope with unexpected events, which easily became insurmountable obstacles sent to block my way forward. I was visibly stressed to those who knew me only in passing. In the midst of all this difficulty, I’d seek further “pleasant” distraction in the hopes of somehow feeling better. Eventually — exhausted and spent — I’d give up and collapse in tears, not wanting to leave the house for a few days . . . only to get up and do it all over again.

Reading this, you might think that such a method of coping sounds crazy. Worse — it could be the very definition of insanity.

You’re right.

At the same time, I would imagine that there are likely many who recognize themselves in that description. It’s not particularly pleasing to see about ourselves; few of us would feel very good about admitting that we’ve been driven to such extremes. After all, we’re supposed to be “busy” with a smile on our faces, feeling good about all of our “achievements”.

When we’re over-loaded with tasks, expectations, motivations, responsibilities, and obligations — our nervous system experiences them no differently than any other kind of violent assault. Then, when the over-load begins to subside, we begin to experience some of the after-effects of violence. We become anxious or restless — waiting for the next thing to be lobbed in our direction. We cannot just sit still and “be” because what if it’s not enough? What if we’ve missed something? What if the next attack comes and I’m not prepared?

Building a tiny house is a dream come true. An art commission that requires the specific and disparate set of skills i’ve spent a life-time acquiring is, too. Teaching movement and dramatic lit and devising a play with beautiful, inspiring young people is a blessing too big to quantify. When I found myself inexplicably gasping for air whilst sitting down the other evening, however, the shock of that discovery jolted me back into my body. I could see instantly that it was imperative to find the gentlest, swiftest way off that train.

And so that journey once again begins in earnest. The sorting out of what needs putting down, what can be prioritized differently, and whether or not the stress I’m perceiving could be managed another way. Without that core of a spacious, open heart and mind, I’m not much good to all of the people I love so much. A life without space, without a peaceful heart and body-mind; a life that cannot gently reach out to adjust the sails as the prevailing winds change (as they always do), isn’t much of a life at all.

Movin’ On Up!

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On Monday, dad and I finished the floor!

View of the trailer from the “back” of the house.

View of the trailer from the “front” of the house. The open area will eventually be the front porch.

As usual, Noah sat contentedly beside the trailer and posed with his ball.

Now that the floor is finished. . . it’s time to consider framing the walls and roof.

First, however, we took a day off on Tuesday to recuperate and do some calculations. It was necessary.

Framing wouldn’t normally be a difficult thing to do, but we will have to change the pitch and shape of the roof to meet RV specifications to be able to move this sucker around without needing any special licensing in order to do so. The trailer height specified in the plans is intended to have a height of 20 inches from the ground to the top of the flatbed, and the plans build a trailer that is 13’11”. My trailer, however, is a full 25″ from the ground to the top of the flatbed, and put us at 14’4″. Since the limit for an RV is 14′ at it’s full height, we had to do a little thinking.

This is one of those moments (and there are many) when I’m profoundly grateful for my dad’s building and engineering expertise and experience. We first determined that we could loose 2″ of height by making the floor from 2×4’s instead of 2×6’s without compromising much in the way of stability, strength, or R-value in the insulation. The next step was to alter the pitch of the roof to save a further 2″.

Those of you who know either my father or who know the house I grew up in will recognize the roof shape! It’s the same one he’s put on nearly every home he’s ever built: a “hip” roof. They look, in short, like a barn.

Dad hard at work on calculating the pitch and dimensions of the new roof.

There will be more on the roof as we go along, I promise.

We also had to calculate how much lumber to buy in order to frame and sheathe the house. Once calculated, we decided the best option was to call a local lumber company for an estimate. The price at a “box store” (i.e.: Home Depot, etc), as we estimated it, was going to be around $1,000-$1,500. Old Monroe Lumber (http://www.omlumber.com/) could do it for $790.66, including tax and delivery. We called them on Wednesday morning, and they promised our order for us on Thursday morning.

Old Monroe Lumber delivering to the site.

They tried to back in for the drop on the way “up” the hill. . .

. . .and, as we found when we moved the trailer into position on site, it was better to go up and turn around to make the drop from the “downhill” angle.

The delivery person was extremely patient, skillful, and even managed not to harm the little dogwood tree shown here, precariously close to the truck. Amazingly, he even managed to drop the wood without blocking the driveway, either. It took a lot of maneuvering, however, to do that.

Just one of the multiple attempts to get the wood into position without it protruding into the driveway and without harming the dogwood tree.

Although my father wasn’t too concerned about the tree being harmed, the driver was, much to my relief. Neither of us was concerned about needing to move or re-arrange the lumber if it ended up in the driveway, but, again, the driver was. He just continued until he was satisfied with the angle, patiently and calmly. When he left, I gratefully called the lumber company to let them know the kind of person they have on their team.

The plans we’re working from can be found here: http://www.thesmallhousecatalog.com/, and are for “The Moschata Rolling Bungalow”.

One thing I’ll say is that Shawn, the owner of the company and the designer/builder of the plans/house, is a really good guy. After purchasing his plans and contemplating potential safety concerns raised by another tiny house company I had contacted on another matter, I emailed Shawn with a heap of questions in a state of anxiety. Not only did he offer great reassurance as well as excellent advice, but he also refunded the cost of the plans to donate back to my project. (The plans are now part of a freeshare on his site, so they are available to everyone!)

After a great deal of further research, I chose to go ahead with my original intention to use Shawn’s plans. I now feel pretty confident that the competing company likely had either an axe to grind or had hopes of luring me in as their customer. An anxious woman who is building a house for the first time, who is also transparent about her resulting fears and concerns, lays fertile ground for an enterprising business man to take advantage of the situation for his own benefit. There is simply no substitute for doing your own research, being willing to question the information/advice offered, and trusting your own instincts, and where someone is willing to stick their neck out to be kind to you, it’s important to acknowledge their contribution with respect and gratitude.

Shawn — you ROCK, dude.

Today we’re going to start cutting and assembling roof trusses.

No One Builds a Foundation Alone

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This week offered a great deal of humility and a reminder that each of us is profoundly reliant upon countless other beings in order to survive.

Getting the floor/foundation of the tiny house built, insulated, and attached securely to the trailer is a critical step in the process, and is likely to have been my least favorite part. I couldn’t have done it without my dad. Frankly, if this post weren’t already so long, there would be an ode to my father in this space. It’s likely to be a frequent refrain and will no doubt be a subject that warrants plenty of its own posts in the near future, and for very good reason. He is an extraordinary being.

The floor/foundation of the trailer is very nearly finished. And everything everyone has ever written about how difficult it is to drill through the steel on a trailer to bolt your tiny house to it was 100% right.

Despite reading everything possible about trailers, bolting floors to trailers, and attempting to heed all the expert advice available out there, I still made plenty of mistakes. Some were pretty breathtaking and would provoke a face-palm from anyone with common sense. At least I know why everyone else bemoans this part of the process and looks forward to getting it out of the way. Generally speaking, I’m fortunate that an inanimate object is extremely unlikely to cause me to lose my temper.

Except for this one. I wish I could say that this part is over. . .but it ain’t over yet. Almost — but not quite.

Dad drilling the first hole.

We started by doing a pre-drill to make space for the 1/2″ carriage bolts to fit into the 2 x 4’s without sticking out. When I say “we”, I really mean my dad, who knows this stuff so well he could almost do it in his sleep.

This is the pre-drilled hole that allows the carriage bolt to nestle into the wood, which will allow the subfloor to lie flat against the 2x4 joists.

This is the pre-drilled hole that allows the carriage bolt to nestle into the wood, which will allow the subfloor to lie flat against the 2×4 joists.

After drilling the wood over the steel flange (great word, “flange”), we went back to drill through the steel. And like many before us, we also burned out our first drill. (Which was indeed my father’s, and yes — I have now replaced it for him with something way cooler and cordless!)

This drill “bit” the dust. (Get it? Drill? “Bit”? Ahem. Moving on. . .)

Before we replaced this dead drill with a newer, better model, however, we needed to just get the job done. We headed into town and rented this heavy-duty 1/2″ chuck Hitachi drill for only $10. This thing was AWESOME. Give it a little spray of WD-40 on the drill bit every now and again while you’re drilling each hole, and it stayed happy and capable without over-heating. Happy to say that it was returned in the same condition it was when we borrowed it. That was a HUGE relief.

The drill that did the job.

Once we could successfully get all of the bolts into their selected holes (there are 14 of them around the perimeter which bolt the floor frame to the trailer), we were faced with getting the nuts onto them underneath. I did pretty well with the drilling. The nuts, however, were what got me. I haven’t cussed that much in a long, long time. Suffice it to say that crawling underneath of the trailer and reaching into a tiny space between the steel flanges was rough. It wasn’t possible to see very well at all, and once the nut was on the bolt, screwing it in created further challenges.

Let me just say that axel grease does NOT make that an easier task (don’t ask!), and if you’re a woman about to crawl under a trailer to nut a bolt, don’t do it in a tank top wearing a sports bra. Two words: metal shavings. And they will go. . . everywhere. In all seriousness, however, if you do go under there, protective eyewear is a must.

Unsurprisingly, it was my father who came up with the most creative idea for solving the problem by using a wrench and masking tape. It took two of us to put each nut in place, one above and one below, but we got it. The part of that task that’s left is to actually tighten each of the nuts, which required another MacGuyver-esque move by my dad, who ground down an old wrench so that it’s thin enough to fit in there and turn. When we get the guts up to go back under there and do it, there’ll be a special post dedicated to it!

Once the bolt situation was more or less under control, we filled the gaps between the boards on the floor of the trailer itself with spray foam to seal them, scraped off the excess, and then filled the space between the joists with foam insulation. The precision cutting involved here is very time consuming (took about two days), but should hopefully be worth it. It’s light-weight and has a solid R rating.

The bits that were scraped off the top of the gaps could be used to fill in a space where the pink foam sheets wouldn’t fit. In the photo on the right, you’ll notice that there’s a 90 degree angle tie. I attached dozens of them to the floor joists and trailer to stabilize it, and used right angle ties at every corner of the floor structure to strengthen it. The entire structure of the floor is glued and screwed to add further structural integrity and stability. My impact driver and I are having a wonderful time together.

As you can see, they’re everywhere. There were 8-hole ties and 4-hole angle ties. The majority that I used were 8-hole ties. Between the angle ties and bolts, that floor ain’t leaving the trailer!

There are two layers of insulation that make up the floor, so each section had to be cut twice, and layered, the cracks filled in with more spray foam.

As usual, Noah was on hand to provide company, laughs, and to have his ball thrown at every available opportunity. Next task: installing the sub-floor!