The Wedding Planner - Attention to Detail, Part 2

Confession:  I have been some version of a control-freak for much of my life.  I learned early on that if I wanted something done well, I often needed to do it myself, and while that may have taught me some leadership skills, it also reinforced trust issues and the inability to delegate.  Over time, I have been trying to unlearn and re-learn, trying to balance leading through doing with leading through teaching and delegating, understanding when good enough is enough and when it is not.

And then came planning my wedding. For a period of approximately 9 months, Andy, my (now) husband, and I planned our wedding.  We are both planners; we like to think things through in advance, we are able to juggle multiple tasks and thoughts and complexities, and we really enjoy planning and executing complicated events.  So planning the wedding was a task, often a second full-time job, which we both enjoyed, riffing off of one another’s thoughts, spelling each other when necessary, and taking on the parts which were our specialties.  While Andy selected every song for the playlist and every item of food and hardware and firewood to be purchased for two dozen weekend houseguests, I worked out every detail of design and color and texture.  Together we planned the logistics for all family members and friends.  And all went without a hitch because of the great detail of planning, the relentless checking and thinking and notating and documenting, the extreme attention to detail.  

Except.  Except for two things.  One was the weather.  We planned an outdoor wedding in Sonoma in October, a most glorious time of the year when it never rains.  And while it didn’t rain, it did get mighty cold and windy in the evening when all of our guests were supposed to be dining and drinking under the stars.  We knew from experience that Sonoma nights are cool, yet we didn’t plan for this fact, and many of the details so carefully planned had to be pushed aside for some on the spot triage to keep folks from freezing.  I never got to see those amazing desserts on the carefully curated selection of antique cake plates which I had lugged around the country, as dessert had to be rushed indoors in a helter skelter fashion.  But I also saw people turn from being guests to being helpers in a moment of need, giving roles to people who had wanted to participate in the wedding and now had something new to do, and who have talked ever since about, “Remember when it got so cold?”  In this case, our lack of having a Plan B resulted in a changed, positive experience.

 

On the other hand, having planned everything within an inch of our lives, I fell down in the planning of having a “Day Of” coordinator, and hired a “good enough” who didn’t turn out to be.  What I needed was a mini-me, and instead hired someone who was convenient but ultimately ineffective.  The wedding didn’t fall apart as a result; too many details were planned and on auto-pilot.  And the meaning of the day and celebration was paramount, far more important than details which weren't perfect.  But the stress caused by my poor hire’s deficiencies wore on others and caused stress where none was necessary.  And that was MY doing, my not listening to the inner voice which was telling me that she was, indeed, not good enough.

Did any of this ruin the day?  Absolutely not.  The day of love and gathering, friends and family, beauty and celebration was amazing and powerful.  Was everything perfect?  No, and life is not perfect.  Compromise in life is necessary.  But learning when to compromise on details and plans is really the key.  Some things matter more than others, and that’s really all there is to it.   It’s up to you to figure out which is and is not.

From a Sobered CEO

In a business which depends on relationships, relationships with our artists and relationships with our customers, my company bends over backwards to make the everyday possible, even when it feels impossible.  And yet, there are the occasional times when for some reason or other, we are unable to succeed.  Today was such a day, a day in which many members of our staff were verbally abused by a potential customer, and I was forced to make the decision not to accept this customer’s business.   It was a hard decision.  It was counter-intuitive to everything I know about service.  And it was the easiest decision in the world in order to protect my staff from further abuse.  I wondered during the process what the legendary Nordstrom position would be, what Seth Godin might say, yet knew that this was necessary, hoping that in this day of viral information that taking the higher ground would speak as loudly as this customer’s abuse.

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?