Attention to Detail, Part 1

Over the past month, I have been struck numerous times by the importance of attention to detail.   Clearly, this is not a new idea.  Every artist, every business person, every politician, every parent I know knows this, yet we often scrimp, thinking “it’s good enough” is really good enough.  Man, have I had examples which have reinforced what  a difference diligent attention to detail can really make.

On my recent trip to Tuscany, I stayed in a most fantastic hotel, The Monteverdi, which cared about every single detail, yet made the entire experience seem effortless.  The hotel stay reminded me of hearing a magnificent symphony played by a world class orchestra, where the whole visit added up to a sense of completeness, a seamless blend of comfort and service and physical beauty.   From the soft-washed Italian linen sheets and fluffy duvet to the unobtrusive-but-always-there service, from the fresh flowers in the room and shower everyday to the world class restaurant always available to guests, from the modernist design to the respect for the 800 year old buildings, from the warm smiles of the staff to the customized recommendations of places to visit, the experience was seamless.

Nothing was accidental; it was all very much on purpose.  And yet, none of the hard work was apparent, only the end result of creating a place meant to soothe, excite, comfort, delight, and stimulate every sense.

The owner of the hotel, a businessman from the U.S, describes the hotel as a labor of love, and he has obviously poured heart, soul, taste, and major dollars into this labor.  Sometimes love can blind; in this case, it seems to have only sharpened the senses.  Bravo!

The Name Game

I'm getting married in a matter of weeks, and one of the things I'm thinking about is my name.  Shall I keep it?  Shall I change it?  And why?

It was easy when I married the first time, 37 years ago.  I was young with a family name both difficult to spell and to pronounce.    My name was such a pain in the neck that I vowed, in 2nd grade, to marry a man with a one syllable last name that started in the beginning of the alphabet.  Seriously.  While that was not the reason I married Steve, I was very happy to take on the last name of Bayne, and Lisa Bayne I have been for 37 years.

My career began after I became Bayne, and my children are both Baynes.  I love sharing a name with them, and hardly think of the name as that of my ex.  It is our name:  Nick's and Zana's and mine.  And I suspect no one would ever find me or know me professionally if I were change my name at this point in my career.

And yet.  The "yet" is that I love sharing a name, and it is meaningful to me to share a name with the man to whom I am committing my life.  Astor?  Lisa Astor?  I don't know her.  But I think I will be able to know Lisa Bayne Astor and am excited to get to know her as I begin this next, wonderful chapter of my life.

What's so Modern About Craft?

Oh my.  The more things change the more they remain the same.  I'm talking about craft, about "making,  about handmade, and about respect. Here, in 2013, there is a DIY revolution in the midst, there is a locavore movement continuing to gain traction everywhere, there are old people and young people making and crafting and designing and yet the debate rages on:  Is it art?  Is it design?  Is it craft?  I say, who cares what it is called?

I was struck at last week's American Craft Council show in San Francisco by the living, breathing chasm exhibited at the show.  At the front of the show were curated,  designed rooms, designed by interior designers and inspired by - and featuring -  some handmade work.  These rooms were beautiful and cool and modern, and didn't look ANYTHING like what was being shown inside the booths of the show, where an older, warmer, and sometimes dated look dominated.  I appreciate the ACC trying to show how to live with craft in a modern setting, but I could not help but wonder, Where are the millenial makers?  Why are they not at this show?

My daughter, Zana Bayne runs her own business,where she and an assistant hand-make edgy, modern, leather accessories which sometimes could make a mother blush.  Lady Gaga,  Katy Perry, Madonna, and editors from Vogue are among her admirers and wearers.  While she literally cuts and rivets and dyes everything herself, Zana would no more consider herself a part of the craft world than Gaga herself would.


Less edgy, but equally handmade is the work of Margo Petitti, who crafts fine Italian menswear fabrics into sleek accessories for body or home.  While the thought of "crafted" scarves might normally conjure up hand-dyed or handwoven, Margo manages to meld old world and new, creating modern cool with traditional techniques.

The best restaurants I know, like  Coi in San Francisco, clearly show the imprint of the chef's or bartender's hand, with crafted cocktails, slow food, and dishes worthy of all the photos that foodies like me take endlessly.

And so I wonder, can the debate end and can we just relax about nomenclature and allow creative individuals to continue to use their hands and minds without our needing to label the work as art or craft or design?  Obviously, the desire - or need - to create by hand is intrinsic to being human. It is an unalienable characteristic that no matter how much we try to examine it or name it, lives on.  Let's let it be and allow it to flower in this century.

Take One Ring Off, Put Another Ring On

On August 1, 37 years and 3 months after my marriage began, I finally became officially divorced.  The judge signed and stamped the documents, and in the name of the government, my first marriage is now legally over.  In all other ways, the marriage has been over for a long time, with a legal separation of 4 years and a growing chasm in the relationship for a decade prior to that.  Yet, I had no idea how I would feel once the court decreed me officially single for the first time since I was 23 years old.  The answer?   I was - and am - feeling,  happy, relieved, and complete, and calmly ready for the next chapter.

The reality is that my marriage did not end in acrimony, and my ex and I remain far more than civil, though you can't really call it friends.  We gave birth to two incredible individuals, and we remain united as their loving, proud parents.  For years we had a satisfying and strong relationship; I have no need to deny it nor forget it.  It's just plain over now, no longer right for who we are today.  Unconventionally, my ex and I still live in the same building we lived in while married, though now have it separated into two different apartments.  He is upstairs; my new life partner and soon-to-be-husband are downstairs.  It works for us, at least for now.  Really.

But I think the greatest contributor to feeling at peace rather than feeling in mourning nor celebratory has been the process of leaving, the process of figuring out who I am in the world as just me.  It has often been rocky, and I've written about the ups and downs of single life, baring more, perhaps, than was wise in an effort to get in touch with my own feelings.

Here I am now, 60 years old, single in the eyes of the law, in a committed relationship that is so permanent and loving, and which will be legally recognized as marriage 69 days from today, so ready to share the rest of my life with Andy, so sure of myself and my comittment to marriage - again.  I recognize that if my life was the fodder for tabloids, it would read something like, "10 weeks after she divorce, she remarried", and it would sound all rushed and rebound-like.  But nothing could be farther from the truth.  What is seen in the eyes of the law only tells a teense of the story.

Einstein and Me

We all know that quote attributed to Einstein about the definition of insanity being doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  It was great and motivating to hear the first few times, at least for me.

But I think there is a different quote, this one learned from my former therapist, which is equally compelling, more actionable, and certainly dominating my thoughts this week:  “The Data Is In”.

You hire a contractor who never calls back or shows up when he says he will, yet you call him again and wait for his call or visit at the appointed time, expecting him to arrive on time.  And then you are disappointed, as if the data wasn’t there to tell you that of course, he would not show up on time.

You are asked – once again - for advice by someone in a perpetual up-down bad relationship that has a repeat cycle of decades.  The asker hopes against hope for change, hopes the advice will facilitate change in spite of all the data proving otherwise.

You love someone who is emotionally unavailable, recognizing that unavailability but convincing yourself that perhaps you can change that person, in spite of years of proof that that person is who she is.

You offer a product which no one wants to buy.  You reduce the price, you change the audience, you fire the advertisers.  No one buys it, yet you are sure it is great. Really, it is.

The Data Is In.  Whether we choose to pay attention and change our own actions based on the data is the critical part, the part so many of us ignore when we are busy crying out in pain or frustration or anger or incredulity.

Yup, I just had a week like this, and as I emerge from my own frustrations and counseling others with theirs, I have to admit that so much of what has made us all nuts was there all along, if only we had been willing to pay attention.  The data was there all along.

In Defense of The Dead Trees Version

Have you eliminated much of the paper media in your life?  I have.  No more daily New York Times, no more print version of the New Yorker, no more subscriptions to food magazines or shelter magazines or fashion magazines.  And far fewer books, having converted to reading from my iPad a couple of years ago in deference to all the traveling I do.

The result?  I read less.  I cook less.  I know less.  Sure, I am a product of my generation, raised on printed editions of everything.  But just as certain is the fact that I’m a modern woman, equipped with every gadget and considered a pretty savvy user of many things electronic.  And I don’t like what is happening to me as all things in my life go digital.

In the airport this morning I allowed myself to buy two magazines, Food and Wine and Elle Décor.  Oh, those gorgeous pictures!  Mmm, those dishes I wanted to cook!  And oh look, restaurant recommendations for cities I might want to visit, inspiration for rooms I might never live in but then again might, and ideas I would never have considered reading about if all I saw was a headline on my iPad.

Don’t get me wrong; I love the digital life, too.  I love to shop online and learn about so much online, I love the immediacy of communication and learning and watching and listening.   Music, video, TED, Facebook, Instagram – yup, I’m hooked.

I think it just might be time to acknowledge and celebrate the fact that there is just something different and desirable about printed media, from the flipping of pages to the serendipity, from the invitation of a glossy page to the ability to tell a story that resembles reality more closely that its back-lit version.

Running an online business that is dependent on a printed catalog,  I have tried for years to figure out if we could get rid of the damn catalog; it is time consuming and expensive to produce and can’t come close to showing all the beautiful work we carry.  But oh, the delight I hear about over and over again from customers about receiving the catalog in home, the anticipation of it and the possibilities it inspires.

I get it, I get it big time.  While waiting for a connecting flight, I’ve just signed up for print magazine subscriptions, not as many as I used to get, but more than the zero which currently come to my home.  I want that inspiration to read and look and explore.  How about you?

What Really Matters

I’m getting married.  Yes, really, at age 60, I am getting married this fall to a man with whom I am deeply in love.  When asked why I would consider this step, why “bother” to get married again and enter the complications of marriage after dealing with all the difficulties of divorce, the answer is fairly simple: because I want to spend the rest of my life with this man, and I respect the commitment that marriage brings, the commitment to work at loving and respecting and growing with someone else.  I want another chance at this with all the knowledge I have gained over the years about life and relationships.

My first marriage took place when I was 23 in 1976.   (As I write those words it seems positively amazing that anyone could think they know who the right life-partner could be at age 23, yet we had a long marriage which produced two extraordinary children.)  The wedding itself was very much of the times:  I sewed our wedding outfits, a friend baked a cake topped with naked bride and groom cookies (I kid you not) and some strange dog walked in the front door, snoozed through the wedding, and left.  We had no money for a fancy wedding, nor did we want one.

Planning a wedding this time around is so different.  We both have families with several generations.  We have lifelong friends we want included.  We have some disposable income.  And I am having a wonderful time planning the event.  I can easily understand how a young bride-to-be can get so swept up in the planning, the details.  There are so many details, and tradition dictates even more.  Wedding fantasies placed in young girls’ heads come bubbling out and put immense pressure on the event. 

I am not young and never had that wedding fantasy.  But I can find myself climbing down that rabbit hole of details.  I love being the producer of events, but for such a significant event, I find myself involved with some detail or other every day – and we are 8 months away!  What will I wear?  (I am having a great time with this one!) Do I have to have invitations?  Where will everyone stay?  Are there parts of a wedding that tradition dictates that I don’t want to forget?  Flowers?  Music?  Help!

And then I remember what matters – that I am committing to a life with my partner.  That’s all, that’s what it’s all about.  The rest will fall in place, including my dress.