afterthoughts on the most bizarre event of my life

After my bizarre encounter with the man who wanted to give me $50 million, I thought long and hard about my objections to a 'chain' of yarn shops.

What is the downside to chains? (All of what follows is supported by either personal experience or research.)

• They aren't sensitive to their demographic.
• They aren't sensitive to their geography.
• They don't pay their staff as well.
• They hire fewer staff per square foot than small retailers.
• They don't put as much money into the local economy.
• They don't give as much money to local charities.
• They don't have the unique character a local shop does.
• They are usually in outlying areas, which requires that I drive some distance from where I live.
• They specialize in lower end goods.
• They usually have a much more limited range of inventory.
• They're often so big that I have to wander through lots of stuff I don't want to find the thing I do want.

 What is the single advantage to a chain?

• Lower prices.

Period. I can spend money on gas to drive to outlying areas to wander around—looking for service—through an inventory with fewer choices and yarns of lower quality than I might find at my local yarn shop (LYS). Wow.

I understand needing to save money in tough times. But what price have we paid for saving these few dollars? I'm not an expert on global economies, but it seems to me that by giving our business to the large chains, we have squeezed out our little downtowns and their locally-owned shops, and how well has that served our towns, cities, local economies, and society in general?

While I don't know much about all this stuff, there are people who do. One of them is Jane Jacobs—a brilliant thinker who wrote some very important books. Perhaps her most well-known was The Death and Life of Great American Cities. The one I have read was Dark Age Ahead. 

In this latter book—which I have lent out and so cannot quote—I remember reading that successful societies (ones that have survived longer than ours) are expensive. They support their artists, their teachers, their child-care providers, their aged, their workers, their suppliers of goods. They don't outsource for cheaper goods: they pay what they must to support the care and welfare of their community's citizens.

Since we might all have fewer disposable dollars, we may now be looking at what she called an expensive society. So how do we make the best use of our spending dollars? Look for cheaper goods? There are people who will tell you that the solution is to shop at WALMART. But I could not disagree more.  I believe that what we need to do is behave as if we are part of expensive but successful society. This means that we look very carefully at where and how we spend our money. And it seems to me that supporting our communities--by buying goods and services from our small, local, independent businesses--is a first step in the road to recovery.

 I know we can't all do this; nor can we do it for all goods. But we can do what we can do. And in the meantime, see you at our LYS!

The most bizarre day of my (knitting) life

I am calling this the most bizarre day of my knitting life. But it may, in fact, have been the most bizarre occasion of my life: it would be a stretch to recall a stranger event. (By the way, I did post this on my website many years ago, but I didn't have a real blog then so not many saw it. And it's just too crazy a story not to entertain you with it.)

Okay, so here's the story.

In early 2003 I was sitting in a very busy yarn shop, knitting a piece for my COLOR book, after teaching for the day and now waiting for my end-of-the-day drive home. I noticed, absently, a tall couple entering the store. The woman seemed to require 3 or 4 staff people to wait on her: the man asked questions that caused impatience with the staff. He was, eventually, directed to me.

This man wanted to know what all the excitement of a regular day in a yarn shop was all about. This was in our heyday and in a very large shop with many customers and staff. There was clearly a lot going on (and a lot of money being made), and he wanted to understand it. The following conversation ensued.

Him Who are all these people?
Me Customers and staff.

Him How many customers do they have in a day?
Me I've been told that it's between 100 and 120.
Him And what do they want?
Me Yarn. 

(Duh. Actually I tried to talk about the current knitting demograhic, but he interrupted me. I need to make it clear that he never seemed particularly interested in my answers—especially when I did not appear to be saying what he wanted to hear. And what won't translate through my writing is that it was rare that I was permitted to complete a sentence. I eventually learned to give only short answers—which is what I offer through my re-telling.)

Him How many yarn shops in the US? Hundreds?
Me No, I answered, perhaps a couple of thousand. I can tell you where to find out.

(I would have sent him to XRX's directory, but he was not interested.)

Him So what makes a good yarn shop?
Me Service and inventory.
Him (sniffing) Well, that's no different from any other retail operation.
Me (thinking but not saying) And why would you expect anything different?
Him What do you think of the idea of a chain of yarn shops?
Me Bad idea.
Him (apparently insulted) Why?
Me Well, chains tend to be low end . . .
Him (defensively) Not necessarily! I started X and X, USA, and used to own half the XXX's on the West Coast.

(There is nothing high end about either of the chains he mentioned: think cheap clothes and fast food.)

Me (continuing my sentence) . . . and local yarn shops can do things chains can't.
Him Like what?
Me Be sensitive to their geography and demographic.

(At this point I attempted to talk about the demographics of knitters—something I had tried earlier—but he had his own agenda.)

Him I want to talk to you about a chain of yarn shops.
Me I am not interested.
Him Of course you are! When are you back in the US?
Me March. But no, I'm not interested.

Him (writing 16 phone numbers onto a card and ignoring anything I said) I want you to come and see me to talk about this.
Me I'm not interested! I'm Canadian! First borns don't do retail!

(I was digging deep into my arsenal of reasons to refuse!)

Him I want to start a chain of yarn shops, and you're going to help me.
Me But why?
Him Because I am spending X $'s (an OBSCENE amount of money) to open a chain of XXX houses on the East Coast and I need a "soft market" alternative.
Me (thinking but not saying) Yarn is soft? Or are we talking money-laundering here?

(To my bewilderment, he continued.)

Him You are going to come and talk to me about a chain of yarn shops.
Me No, you don't understand . . . .

(I am fumbling and near-speechless. I don't know how to continue. I COULD have said "We can't do this! It'll ruin the industry! It'll put the independents out of business! There already isn't enough yarn in the world." And at the same time I'm thinking "Better not say these things. He'd see all that as an opportunity." I sit paralyzed.)

Me, continuing Please . . . not a good idea . . . you don't understand . . . .

Him No, YOU don't understand. (He leaned towards me.) I have fifty million dollars to give you.

Later that day I found myself driving a very large and lovely Mercedes up the coast of California . . . having just turned down $50 million . . . and I'm thinkin' "THIS is a day that doesn't come often."

But it doesn't take a genius to imagine what kind of mess would have been created had I said yes?

In defense of knitting when times are tough, part ten

When I did an interview for a podcast (http://www.journalgazette.net/article/20110911/BLOGS2601/110909628), I told her there were ten parts to this series. But then I truly thought i was done with nine--much as that's rather an odd number with which to end--until I read an article in Oprah magazine while staying at a B&B in Atlanta. The issue was dedicted to intuition, and so I found my tenth piece of the puzzle.

We all have intuitive thinking that serves us in emergencies, when we have decisions to make,  during tough times. And it's important to both access and trust what our intition tells us. But how to do both?

One thing Oprah says--something by which she lives--is "If you don't know what to do, do nothing." Stop working, be calm, sit quietly, and listen for that inner voice. And you might well imagine that that inner voice comes from the right brain . . . which is active when we are knitting. While knitting, we are calm, we are at peace, we are in our right brain, and we can hear our inner voice.

But just in case you think "I'm not exactly doing nothing when I am knitting," here is some other research that supports what I suggest. Research says that we don't need to sit perfectly quiet (in a state of meditation) to hear that inner voice--although that works too. Researchers found that we are also able to hear that voice when we are distracted.  If knitting for you is "busy work," then when you are knitting, the busy-ness of it can distract your logical brain--in which intuition does not reside--so the intuitive brain can rise up and speak.

Actually, it's not a rise up and speak kinda voice: it's more like that whisper we hear that just kinda comes to us and to which we need to listen. My experience is that it comes when I am listening very carefully, which knitting allows me to do.

And my experience is also that  I must trust it. If I don't, lessons are learned. Remembering some of those lessons (and their regrets) reminds me to trust the voice and act upon it. And perhaps this is just something that comes with experience.

But when times are tough, isn't this the voice we need to listen to--the voice that will help us make the right, the authenthic, the creative decision?

In defense of knitting when times are tough, part nine

So, despite everything I've said before, this might be my favourite response to this topic--probably because it challenges some basic assuptions and makes us think deeply about what matters. 

Some research was done on "happiness." How happy are you? Obvious results were about family income. If your family income was below a particular level (and I don't remember what it was, but it wasn't huge--something like $80,000 per household, but please don't quote me), you were less happy than those at that level: in fact, the further below this level you were, the less happy you were. All to be expected.

But here was the part that challenges our assumptions: for folks above that level, the researchers saw the flattest results they had ever seen. No matter whether you earned $100 more or $1, 000, 000 more, you were no happier. So, research supports what we've always tried to tell ourselves (even if we never quite believed it): money does not make us happy. (When I saw this information, the moderator asked if this would be used to direct taxation policy: it's an interesting question . . . . )

And then the recession of 2008 hit . . . which drove the researchers back into the field. Would these results hold when incomes went down and life became less certain? Here's what they found over the recession and the year following.

• People's levels of happiness went down with their incomes (paralleling the stock exchange).
• When some measure of recovery appeared, people's levels of happiness went up (paralleling the stock exchange).
• At the end of the year, even though their incomes were lower than before and their job security was less than before, they were happier than they had been before.

The researchers assumed something they called the adaptation principle: when times are tough, we find out how resilient we are, we find out who we can count on , and we find out what really matters. In other words, we find out what it takes to make us happy.
For all the reasons listed in all the posts below, knitting makes me happy!  So, no matter how tough times are, I will knit. And I am comforted in this choice by the words of Neitsze:

For happiness . . . how little suffices for happiness. The littlest thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, little makes up the best happiness.

In defense of knitting when times are tough, part eight

We've heard forever that life is best in balance. We can't play all the time, nor can we work all the time. We need a little of everything in good measure. No matter how tough times are, we need some fun--some escape from it. So it's not surprising that the movie industry has always done well in trying times. And so should KNITTING!

For all the reasons listed below, knitting is good for us--our brain, our psyche, our closet, our economy. But it's also FUN! Kinda like going to the movies, it's an escape. (If you've read the second post then you know that that escape is to a very positive place--the right brain.)
But let's take a moment to think of the cost of escape--in terms of hours of entertainment against dollars spent. Knitting, while initially expensive, rates very well within this analysis--much higher than a movie and even higher than a good book! This may be all the thought we need give before making that yarn purchase. It's your form of escape, it brings balance to your life, and it's less costly than most any other way to have FUN! So go have some!!!

In defense of knitting when times are tough, part seven

People who don't knit look at us in wonderment, that we can spend so many hours working towards a result we're not even sure of. (Actually, they don't know about the uncertainly: that's our well-kept secret.) They see hours and hours of work, that's all they see, and they don't get it.

What they don't appreciate is the lesson we learn about commitment--the commitment learned from setting goals and working patiently towards their completion. And isn't that skill something we complain about the lack of  in our world?

We complain about those who show little understanding of the motivation it takes to do a job well. We can blame the whole financial mess on a debt crisis precipitated by those who wanted something without putting in the work to achieve it. We understand how teachers suffer in classrooms filled with students so expectant of instant gratification. Even of government, whose wheels are purported to gind slowly, we are impatient for results.

Knitting has a valuable lesson to teach--of choosing a task and working patiently towards its finish . . . again, an essential skill for challenging times.

In defense of knitting when times are tough, part six

I, like everyone else, am aware of reports of slow economic growth. And while the causes are many, when asked for the solution the pundits usually say consumer demand. People need to buy.

What I don't understand is why they don't see that consumer demand--at least as we knew it before the recession--will probably never return. People are scared: consumer confidence is low (for very good reasons), and this is something that probably can and maybe should change. But at the same time, people--from their experiences of the past 3 years--have learned to both want and live with less. I do think learning what we can live without--learning what is really important--is a good thing, and I wish the pundits would acknowledge and address this new reality . . . because I am not sure this will readily change.

But what I have learned is that while I can live without a new car or another pair of shoes or the newest tech gadget, I choose not to live without yarn! My part in the economy's turnaround will be to continue to buy yarn. In this arena, my confidence is high! I know what good every dollar spent will do for my closet, my brain, my well-being. They want me to spend, and I will. If that's my duty as a citizen, I will happily oblige.

See come join me at our LYS! Good times to be had by all!