Category: Blog Posts

I’m showing my age here, but there was a song in the late 80s by Steve Winwood that I used to dance around the house singing to, using a wooden spoon as my microphone. The prevailing lyric in that tune was You’ve got to roll with it, baby… and that seems to be what I’m finally doing, after staggering through the last six months of weird Pandemicland, wondering what the future is going to look like. Back in early February, very few people could have predicted what was coming down the pike. If you had asked someone back then if they had their mask with them or mentioned the term “social distance” they would have looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t possibly know how hard COVID-19  would hit (demolish) certain sectors, and how many small businesses would be changed forever by it. I’m going to be frank with you. I have met with exactly one couple for wedding invitations in six months. Business isn’t just slow, it’s nonexistent. I get it– it’s fairly impossible to plan large gatherings when there is no way of knowing what the future looks like during a pandemic. We are all putting our lives on hold, essentially agreeing to put off celebrating milestones, crossing our fingers tightly and holding fast to the belief that when The Future arrives, it’s going to be bright. And hoping that we will be able to pick up somewhere remotely near where we left off. During this time at home, I’m fairly certain I’ve gone through most of the stages of grief. At first when things slowed down, like many people, I was relieved for the break in routine–a government-mandated respite from work? Sure thing. But as weeks turned into months, my emotions ran the gamut. I was angry and felt it wasn’t fair, especially to “the little guys” like me who had been fortunate enough to make a small business succeed even through the 2007-2008 recession, and who now saw no income coming in but didn’t quite meet the parameters for the small business bailout plan. It hit me how real this was. As the understanding dawned on me about how serious this truly was becoming, I began to feel the depth of the situation. I started to feel anxious about even going to the store for groceries, worried I wouldn’t keep the right amount of distance or that I’d accidentally break some sort of new social code. At times, I felt like a failure in my business for not being able to make something out of nothing. And every day came like Groundhog Day, exactly the same as the one before it. I sat within a spectrum of discontent for weeks, not remembering what real joy and excitement felt like, but reminding myself to be grateful that my family and friends hadn’t been hit hard by the virus and that we were all staying healthy. I continue to be blessed that my husband is employed in a sector that is even more needed at the moment. Deep down, I knew we were going to be OK, so I tried to embrace the good and find comfort in small daily victories. I was trying to “roll with it,” albeit with a little less pizazz than when I was singing along to Steve in the 80s. Then, finally a couple of weeks ago, in true Annie form, I bounced back. Not all at once, but a little bit every day. Historically, I have never been able to stay down for long, wallowing, and I have found that action has consistently been my greatest ally. But apparently, I needed a catalyst. And one day, it came in the form of my desk chair literally falling out from underneath me. A wheel broke off and dumped me straight onto the floor. So I took it as a sign to tear down the entire desk area. I threw out the desk chair and started revamping my office space into more of a living-working-meeting space. I decided now was the best time to reevaluate what was still working with my business and what hadn’t been working for some time (or was literally out of date, like the dozen or so invitation albums I threw out over the weekend). I updated my website and ran a security check. I started hustling more graphic design projects to supplement my income and give me some actual work to do while party planning was still a vague, futuristic idea for many. I decided to stop wallowing and find more ways to contribute, to feel relevant again. The future is still uncertain, but what can you do? Look for the good. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Figure out what matters. And just roll with it, baby.

After 9 months of working from home, the one question I get repeatedly from friends and customers is: So how do you like working from home? On one hand, how could I NOT enjoy the freedom that comes from setting my own schedule, and let’s be honest– some days sitting at the computer in my pj’s, drinking coffee and petting the cat that likes to sneak onto my desk, all while not dealing with moody coworkers or anyone else’s Spotify playlists is pretty ideal. Obvious bonuses right there. But there is also a flip side. While rolling out of bed and settling in at the computer without worrying about brushing my hair might sound enticing, there are also obvious drawbacks. Some days I realize I’ve been so engrossed in my work that I haven’t showered or even left the house by mid-afternoon. Other days I wonder what will happen to my business if the phone doesn’t keep ringing, or emails don’t keep coming in. How will I pay my bills? What will I do for work instead? Could I get a job somewhere else after being my own boss for 12 years? When you work for yourself, simply put, you have to hustle. If I want business, I have to actively seek it out. I no longer have a storefront where people can wander in at their leisure, maybe buying something, maybe just striking up a conversation about “what all it is that I do here” and filing it away for future reference. When you work for yourself, particularly at home, you have to be constantly hungry for potential business. You have to stay open-minded. You need to be accommodating and flexible. And, last but not least, you have to remember to find balance amidst the hustle. The first few months of working from my new home studio were challenging for one reason: I struggled to find that critical balance between how much time I spent working versus doing anything else. If you talk to other people who have experienced the “joys of working from home,” many of them say the same thing: I actually worked more when I worked from home. The thing is, you have to learn when to turn it off. I had a hard time NOT working constantly in those first few months. If something needed to be done, I felt like I should be doing it, regardless of what else was on my list (cleaning, grocery shopping, interacting with my family, or even just reading a book because hey, you shouldn’t work all the time). But I truly felt guilty for doing anything other than work, or for not answering the phone or emails after 5 p.m.–I felt like I was supposed to be available to my customers. All. The. Time. What I didn’t realize was that without those natural boundaries that exist by physically leaving the house and going to a job outside of the home, I had to be willing (and able) to set them for myself. The pace at which I was going wasn’t sustainable and other important aspects of my life would begin to suffer if I didn’t make some changes to my routine. At first, I tried setting a schedule for myself every day, like a “normal job.” It helped in some ways, but it also wasn’t realistic because not every day is the same. Some days there is more to do, others less. After a lot of trial and error (and finally giving myself permission to not feel guilty if it was 1 p.m. on a Tuesday and I was mowing the grass), I finally figured out a few keys to successfully working from home and being happy doing so. {Disclaimer: just because these strategies work for me doesn’t mean they will for everyone–you have to find your own groove.} But in case it helps, here is what I’ve learned so far: Schedule wisely. Schedule appointments in clusters. This helped me create more structured blocks of studio time, which freed up other days for meetings outside the studio, proofing/printing orders, website work, or running personal errands. In short, I am learning to work smarter, not harder. Be focused. Focus first on what needs to be done today and do it. When the critical tasks are finished for the day, I reward myself by doing something I want to do (like mow the grass or search Pinterest for a new dinner recipe). Don’t neglect the website. Block aside entire days here and there for mind-numbing web stuff. It’s tedious work, but once I get into my WordPress groove, hours fly by. I’ve learned it’s not a good idea for me to have anything else on my plate on those days. And you can’t underestimate the importance in maintaining a relevant online presence. Email doesn’t own you. Don’t check email a dozen times a day. A few times a day is absolutely reasonable. Any more than that and it becomes an obsessive habit. Stay flexible. Not everything goes according to plan, but when that happens, it’s rarely the end of the world. Whether it’s a customer who cancels or shows up late or a project that goes awry, take a deep breath and remember to adapt. Things will get done. Life will move on. We are all doing the best we can on any given day. Be open to new work. I’ve faced the hard fact that stationery isn’t what it once was, and that to stay in business, I need to be willing to flex and evolve, which means taking on new types of work, including copywriting and editing, web-based work, and a lot more design and marketing projects. Try viewing it as an opportunity to learn, grow, and become more diverse in your skill set. Balance is 100% vital to both happiness and success. Period. Learning to work from home is an ongoing process, and it’s not for everyone. As I’m adapting, I’m finally starting to exhale. Customers …

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Hey, guess what? We’re moving this week! You’ve heard the rumors…so let’s set the record straight, shall we? After 11 years in business, 2016 had me noodling on how to continue to grow while meeting the needs of my clients in the absolute best way possible. So, I did what I always do. I mixed things up a bit. As the paper industry evolves within a booming digital market, and my business enters her teenage years, I’ve decided to make a bold shift: I’m closing my retail storefront and opening a home design studio. After an intense 5+ months of construction that involved ripping the entire back off my house (while positioning the building in Centerville to sell at just the right time), the BIG DAY has arrived. As of Thursday, January 26th, The Envelope will hold consultations (by appointment only), from a brand new home studio in Oakwood. Seriously, you can still smell the sawdust. So, what does this mean for you? It means a few things are changing, but a lot of things aren’t. I will keep doing most of the things I’ve always done (wedding and event invitations, stationery, personalized gifts), while letting go of the things that were no longer viable (carrying inventory and having regular retail hours). Working by appointment from a home studio will allow me the flexibility to meet with customers when (and where) it’s convenient for THEM while giving me more freedom to continue strengthening the freelance relationships I’ve been building over the past few years. Many of the products and services I’ll be offering from the home studio are staying exactly the same: custom invitations, stationery, calligraphy, save the dates, wedding programs, graduation announcements, personalized gifts, and more. And rest assured, you’re going to get the same great custom products and service you’ve come to expect– the process will just run a tad differently. So, call me up (the phone number is the same), write me a message (the email is the same), or send a carrier pigeon…You can always call or email orders in, or give me a ring to see if you can swing by and place an order. Either way, thanks for sticking with me for over a decade; I’m excited to see what we can create together in 2017.

Truth: As a business owner, for the most part I get to decide what to do every day. Some days that can be a blessing (all right, most days), and sometimes it’s a curse (especially without a team of coworkers to help keep the creative juices flowing). Some days I design things. Some days I print things. Other days I answer emails nonstop. And then some days… I bake. Today I made lemon cranberry scones at the shop, and the mere act of doing something out of the ordinary with my day made me feel more energized. For me, a huge part of maintaining motivation and encouraging my own professional growth is mixing things up from time to time. We aren’t robots, and we shouldn’t behave like ones. When we get burnt out, we need to listen to what that’s telling us… and take a break. Earlier this week I seriously struggled to find any sort of inspiration. I wasn’t feeling creative; I wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to work on orders or tackle administrative stuff. I was in a creative slump. I was tired. I was grumpy. I knew from experience “this too shall pass,” but I wasn’t happy and knew something had to give. In those times, it doesn’t hurt to ask yourself what you can do differently to help things turn around, even if it’s not related AT ALL to what you’re “supposed” to be doing every day. In order to get back on track, sometimes I have to completely disconnect from my routine. So, today I brought my cookbook to work, along with a sack of ingredients, and I baked scones. From scratch. I even made my own buttermilk. {Yeah, it’s super easy.} And you’ll never guess what happened after that glorious hour of mixing, baking, and glazing. I sat down and plowed through 4 more hours of proofing, organizing, and taking new orders, and on top of that, I had the satisfaction of knowing I had some kick-ass homemade scones to take home and share with friends over the weekend. What can YOU do with an hour today to reclaim your creativity? Sometimes all you need to get back on track is, well, a different track.  

I’ve been stewing all morning about what I should be doing differently… with my business, with my life, and with my relationships. There’s just an overarching feeling that I’m not quite doing something “right.” And I’ve felt somewhat paralyzed by indecision as I’ve been swirling options around in my head without any particular direction or end point in mind. It’s like I’ve been on a circular ride at the fair that just keeps going round and round and has left me feeling strangely disoriented and a little queasy. With ten years under my belt, it’s only natural to start questioning the path I’m on and where it might be headed over the next ten (or so). Questions and ideas flow. Has my time in the paper world wound down? Maybe I should look at opening a reception venue. Maybe I should take my design business and expand it, traveling more and working from the road. Or maybe I just need to focus on doing what I already do but do it BETTER. Grow my social media following. Expand my product offerings. Partner with some other unique businesses. Do something awesome with the building I’m already in. And round and round I go with idea after ill-formed idea, just pie in the sky, waiting for something to form out of my mental cloud shapes so all of a sudden I shout with realization, “Yes! That’s it! Obviously. It’s a rabbit holding a bow and arrow. It’s perfectly clear now.” And along with the questions of what I should be doing with the shop naturally arise questions of what I should be doing with the rest of my life. Yep, I know, big questions for a Wednesday. But if we don’t question things or seek continuous growth, then what? We stagnate. We stop growing. We stop feeling inspired and interested by our lives. We stop feeling like we have something to give to others, to the world. I don’t have the answers today. But I have the questions. And slowly I’ll live my way into the answers. On my to-do list today, at the very top, is “blog post.” So instead of stewing about what to do and what not to do, I decided to get over myself and actually write about it. So here I sit, blogging, as a reminder that this always seems to help make sense of things. And writing is a good way for a lot of us creatives to feel productive but also to process. Next on my list: “book trip.” No, that doesn’t mean I’m taking a book tour. It’s just a reminder that sometimes getting lost helps us find ourselves. So I found a reasonable flight to Costa Rica in February to visit my grandma and will book it tonight once I get home and can check my passport number. Traveling forces me to get outside of my daily life, break certain habits, read more, listen more, and connect more deeply with the world outside the four walls of my house and my store. Changing your perspective has a way of well, changing your perspective. Number three on my list? “Stay open.” It’s a habitual tendency to close in on ourselves when we feel bogged down by daily life, bored with our surroundings, or uninspired by our pursuits. It’s easy to tunnel vision into ourselves and become “me-centric” thinking obsessively about what we feel, think, and need… And it’s fine to do a little bit of that while soul searching in order to really listen to yourself. But at a point it’s time to get over yourself, DO something, and keep your face toward the sun.        

“I’m deep into writing love letters…” she said as she walked in the door. “I hope you can help me. I was up until 3 a.m. because the words kept pouring out.” Oh my gosh, I love this. I love that people are still writing love letters. I love that people are seeking out special stationery on which to write their innermost thoughts to share with someone they love. It makes me feel warm and nostalgic, and gives me hope that deep, poetic communication (and paper) are not things of the past. I know I write about this topic frequently, and you can call me old-fashioned if you’d like, but there is a part of me that longs for a time when handwritten letters were commonplace– they were how we corresponded with people– sometimes the only way in which we corresponded with people. Now, handwritten letters are pleasant surprises. And I fear they will become relics, true things of the past, evidence of a time when words were meaningful and carefully chosen because there was no backspace button. You had to think about what you wanted to say and write it carefully, hoping you were accurately conveying what was in your heart in that moment. Instead, now we text. Short little impulsive bursts of thought. We have become sneakily dependent on our mobile appendages, and despite the increase in communication, it seems the quality of that communication is slipping. I would even go so far as to say many people are failing miserably at communicating with others. I wonder…what would today be like if we didn’t text? What if our communication was solely comprised of in-person conversations, phone calls, and written letters? What would our close, personal relationships look like? Would they be more secure? Would we worry less if the need for instant gratification were removed? Would we be more productive throughout the day without constant digital interruptions? Would we feel more at peace and less anxious? Would we be more focused on the present moment? Or would it feel isolating? I wonder. Don’t get me wrong- I appreciate texting, to a point. There is merit in the efficiency of sending a text to let someone know you’re running late, or seeing if a friend is free to meet up at a moment’s notice. But, there are times when I feel an ugly dependence on texting and an actual aversion to phone calls or in-person contact because I’ve become so accustomed to texting as a form of communication. I’d honestly like to write more letters and send fewer texts. And I need to remember that to me, it’s more important to focus on the quality of my communication and on saying what I truly mean to say, rather than being constantly connected.    

I recently fell in love…with an old building that caught my eye last summer when it came up for sale. As I walked through it, it spoke to me. Not once, not twice, but every time I set foot inside it. The building silently told me things; it showed me how much beauty there is in history, how much authenticity there is in a structure that has seen nearly two centuries…and it was clear that we had always belonged there. My business and I. The worn wooden floors, beams that have been around for almost 200 years, and the gorgeous stone wall that stretches up two stories and somehow makes me feel instantly safe. I feel at home in this place. More often than not, life happens to us, and if we aren’t listening, we miss out on opportunities that could transform us, adding a new dimension to our lives that we didn’t even know we needed. My heart is at peace in this place. Because of the instant, unexplainable connection I felt to this ancient, creaky, stone house, I’m trying to listen more. I’m trying to pay more attention to and appreciate the beauty in old things. Things that have endured. Places with a story to tell. I’m also trying to listen more to things that can’t be seen. There is energy surrounding all things, so I’m trying to listen with my instincts, my heart, my fibers, my nerve endings. There’s magic in feeling things you can’t explain. Sometimes people pull us to them for reasons we might not know yet. Sometimes things or places speak to us silently in ways we cannot explain. But if you pay attention- if you listen- those experiences leave you different than before. Open your eyes. Pay attention. Trust me, you do not want to miss these moments…they guide us, they fulfill us, and they connect us.

With the societal trend toward whatever is better, faster, and sleeker, I’ve noticed (and I’m sure I’m not the only one) a decline in the overall quality of goods and services in the marketplace. It’s become evident that as big box retailers work themselves into a frenzy trying to keep up with the curve while keeping their prices down, many of them aren’t able to maintain the overall quality that consumers are used to, and– on the heels of one of the worst economic times in decades– have come to demand. Consumers are more discerning than ever, and you’d better believe they’re choosy about where to spend their hard-earned dollars. This is where the “shop local” movement comes into play. If people are going to spend money, they want to feel confident in the places they choose to spend it. Fortunately for our local market, if there’s one thing we do well, it’s produce quality local businesses run by people who believe in a hands-on work ethic and know what it means to stand behind their brand. They simply have to in order to survive in a marketplace that is more demanding than ever. When you get it right repeatedly and treat your valued customers as though they are in fact valuable, you will earn customers for life. When you deliver incredible products and service, you will not only earn repeat business but free promotion (win-win). On the flip side, if you promise something and you fall flat, you’re worse off than if you hadn’t promised anything in the first place. Marketing Pro Tip: happy customers will tell their friends; unhappy people will tell everyone. I recently visited a privately-owned steak house in Chicago that is one of the oldest and most esteemed of its kind in the city. I like to check out independent restaurants, and if there’s one thing I love to indulge in, it’s a decent steak, so I was pretty excited about this place after hearing all the hype and reading rave reviews. I should have taken it as a bad sign when the waiter delivered A1 sauce with my steak…and I *sheepishly* chose to use it because the steak was completely tasteless. I had never before been to a prime steakhouse that even had A1 on the premises, much less delivered it with the meal. Fail. Just like a great steak doesn’t need A1 to make it taste good, quality shops and restaurants don’t need anything fancy to make them look good. If they actually are good, it’s evident. And just like with a perfectly-prepared steak, even if you have to pay a little more for it, what you get time and time again with your local favorites is amazing service, exceptional products and a guarantee that you’ll leave happy. Which is precisely why they’re your favorites in the first place. The one thing I’ve stood behind, no matter what, is that I will go above and beyond to make sure you want to keep coming back to us. I take pride in what I do, in the people who represent my business, and in our reputation in the Dayton market. I’m fully invested. On the rare occasion when a customer has been unhappy, I have literally lost sleep figuring out a way to make it right for them. I believe that exceptional quality speaks for itself.  I offer unique designs and products, personal service, and a promise that you’ll leave happy. And I don’t offer A1.  

“You don’t have to know where you’re going to be headed in the right direction.” I took the advice of a marketing guy I know and decided to use my most recent fortune from P.F. Chang’s as my blog post topic this week. (And by “this week” I mean the first post I’ve written since January 19th…shame on me.) I’ve had writer’s block, coupled with a lot of new endeavors, coupled with an extreme case of – ok, yes, I’ll admit it- “I forgot the website existed.” But here I am, ready to write. So listen up. The thing I like most about my “You don’t have to know where you’re going to be headed in the right direction” fortune is that it reminds me of something I was briefly discussing the other day, which was the concept of “you have to start somewhere.” A lot of us experience anxiety of the unknown or unfamiliar. We don’t start anything new because we don’t know what will happen if we try, whether it’s starting a project, getting involved in the community, meeting new people, or just implementing a different twist into the same old daily routine. We want a guarantee that it’s not going to blow up in our faces, but the thing about life is there is no guarantee…So most of the time, instead of taking a risk, we stay where things are comfortable. And when we don’t take risks, our lives tend to stay the same, day in and day out. Had I not taken a risk 7 years ago and decided to start my own business, my life wouldn’t look anything like it does today. In the Spring of 2005, I was 26, had an eight-month old baby and no idea what I was doing with my career, but an opportunity crossed my path to start a stationery business- and without allowing myself to overanalyze it, or work myself into a frenzy of reasons why it might fail, I jumped in and just did it. Over the next seven years, the decisions I made would shape the course of my life in ways that have permanently changed me for the better. Over time, I’ve watched as the business I built has grown into its niche, ebbing and flowing with the changing economic climate and establishing connections with customers and community partners. Most importantly though, being a business owner has pushed me to get out and network. On April 14, 2011, I dragged my skeptical self to a Generation Dayton networking event at Blind Bob’s…I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to make small talk with strangers, and I didn’t feel like generically handing out my business card to people I figured would probably throw it away on the next trip to the bathroom. In short, I was feeling negative. I didn’t want to take that first step toward the unknown- I didn’t want to leave my comfortable Envelope bubble and make an effort to expand my network. But that night I met a number of people who have impacted my life, and made a few friends without whom my life wouldn’t be the same. And even though it was just one networking event, one Spring night at Bob’s, it was a start. After that event, I went to the next one in May, and kept meeting more and more people who were involved in the goings-on in Dayton: people who worked with non-profits, people who worked with artists, people who supported the revitalization efforts of the city. And I loved every second of it. I found that the more I started, the more I wanted to keep going. The momentum kept pushing me forward. By welcoming that momentum instead of fearing the unknown, and by stretching the boundaries of my own comfort zone, I’ve developed some amazing professional relationships in Dayton, connected with fellow entrepreneurs, and welcomed many people into my life who make it richer and more meaningful. Today, not only am I business owner and a mom to an amazing 7-year old, but I’m a writer, a graphic designer, a publications coordinator, a volunteer, an art lover, a young professional, and a community activist. I am proud to be associated with organizations like the Dayton Visual Arts Center and Culture Works, and I’m honored to be part of a community that is fortunate to have so many catalysts invested in its growth and development. I had no idea what would happen when I opened The Envelope (ha, what a great a metaphor…). I had no idea what I was starting when I went to Blind Bob’s last April… but because I took the first step and started somewhere, it’s taken me places I could never have dreamed, both personally and professionally. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but I can say without hesitation that I know I’m headed in the right direction.    

I was pulling into the parking lot at work the other day, and I had this crazy idea… What if there was only one homeless person? Now I know that sounds crazy, but I just thought, “If there was only ONE person who needed  a home, wouldn’t most of us feel inclined to help?” Doesn’t that seem like a no-brainer? If you knew that you could help the one person who needed it, wouldn’t you do it? I think almost everyone would, I really do. Because it seems manageable. If one person needed a home, we would ask around to see if anyone knew of a place he could stay. If only one person needed a job, we would surely be able to suggest five people that she could talk to who had open positions. If only one person was hungry, we would take turns bringing him meals until he could manage better on his own.  If there was only ONE person struggling in our society or our community, I really believe we would feel a civic responsibility to help. Helping just one person sounds easy. So why is that when we are tasked with helping groups of people, we fall short? If you break it down, it looks like this: if every one of us who could help someone else, even in a small way, did just that, then as a whole we could make an enormous impact. I’m not claiming to be the first person to ever spout this idea. I know this is nothing new. People have been screaming this for years. Non-profits have been asking the masses to donate their time and resources since practically the beginning of time. But to most people, when they look at “helping those in need” it sounds like a huge task- a daunting responsibility – (because that’s typically how it’s presented to us to point out the magnitude of these issues, i.e. homelessness, hunger, poverty, etc.). We lose perspective when we look at it on only a large scale, and we fail to realize that our assistance usually DOES go toward helping one individual…and on that scale it feels much more personal – and much more doable. For example, Clothes That Work is hosting an event in March called The Fairy Godmother Project that will allow girls in need of prom dresses to go in and try on dresses, hoping to find the perfect dress to make them feel like a prom night princess. During the weeks prior to the March 17th event, CTW and several area partners are collecting prom dresses from women (like me) who have them hanging in the back of the closet from years ago…Someone suggested I use my store as a drop zone for people to bring in their dresses, and I jumped at the chance to get involved. It’s such an easy way to make a difference, and hopefully people will step up and join in the effort by digging through their closets and bringing in their own prom treasures to help make the day of a young lady in need. Your one dress will go to help one lucky girl – see the impact? Getting involved in something bigger than yourself doesn’t take much – I’m simply putting out a bin and spreading the word – and if it makes a difference to even one person, it’s worth it. There are countless ways one person can make a difference, you just have to pay attention. We are all important pieces of our world, and we all need to do our share. And one person might not sound like a lot, but if you take one and add another “one”, and another “one”, you end up with something huge. See where I’m going with this? Here are a few suggestions I received from my friends on Facebook today when I challenged them to think of their favorite “easy” way to give back: Donate Blood every eight weeks Become a “Big” with Big Brothers Big Sisters St. Vincent de Paul (folding laundry or stocking the food pantry) St. Jude Children’s Medical Research Volunteer with A Kid Again (or give $5/month) If you’re a business owner, donate your own services, location, or silent auction items to charities who could use them Get your kids involved in the Light the Night Walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society Again, I have to ask…if it was just one person who needed help, wouldn’t you jump at the chance?

There should be more days when we allow ourselves just one goal: create something. I’ve recently had the opportunity to spend time in the Front Street studios, working and painting alongside renowned artist, Mike Elsass. Mike’s Dayton gallery, “The Color of Energy,” and countless others from Sedona to Chicago showcase his vibrant body of art –a unique combination of acrylic on rusted steel– that is rich in color, depth, motion, and texture. Painting with Mike was an escape from the ordinary, from routine. Painting allowed me to simply create. After rolling up the sleeves of my white tuxedo shirt provided by Mike (a quirky alternative to the traditional smock), I experienced the creative process in various stages. From the very beginning when the sheets of steel were treated with vinegar and sand, covered in plastic and left to corrode, to the process of applying color and texture, layer after layer. “There are no mistakes,” being the only rule. Experimenting with different colors, sand, powders, brushes, and rollers, I became more comfortable and I settled into the work, which became meditative and therapeutic. As I worked, I realized that, like life, creating art is a process. I couldn’t expect perfection from the get-go and I didn’t necessarily know where I was headed. There were times when I felt like I’d made mistakes, but the beauty of the process allowed me to keep going, over and over, until it felt right. Sometimes I asked for guidance, and other times I dug through the bucket of acrylics, picked one, and went back to it. A little paint here, a little copper dust there, a few more brushstrokes here…now, how about some chalk? I followed my whims, I watched and learned, I eventually found comfort in the reassurance of knowing “there are no mistakes.” And when all was said and done, the result was a beautiful collaborative effort– perfect in its imperfection.  

Bustling through Times Square, I marveled at this guy who was offering free hugs to passers-by on the street. There is something so honest and vulnerable about a stranger on the streets of New York asking for hugs, but if you really think about it, it’s simple – sometimes you just need a little “warm fuzzy” to help you through the day. I got to work today and I had a bunch of ”free hugs” waiting for me at The Envelope’s Google Places page. I was overwhelmed by so much positive feedback and encouragement, and I wanted to give a big, hearty, sincere thanks to all of my wonderful customers who have left reviews on the Google site. I can’t tell you all how much it meant to me to read such lovely and kind words about the work we have done for all of you over the past six years. I have gotten to know so many of you on a more personal level, and it brightens my day each time any of you walk through my door. You truly feel like extended family, and your continued business and kindness mean so much to me. To all of you out there who have been perpetuating the friendly cycle of “hugs” in one way or another: YOU GUYS ROCK! I am constantly impressed and inspired by the kindness and generosity of spirit that I get to witness through working with all of you. (One of my long-time customers even offered to ship something for me the other day- thank you, Linda!!) To read such kind words, and see such thoughtful actions, makes me feel like we are all on the right track, and that we’re all looking out for one another – and for that I’m incredibly grateful. Dayton is a “small town” at heart, and the lovely people in this community keep it feeling like a big family at times. I hope I can continue giving back to all of you and providing all of you with the service and products you have come to know and love here at The Envelope. Cheers!  

“The concept of a handwritten note, a wax seal, and the whole nine yards is kind of lost on the public at large these days,” he said as he looked through paper selections trying to find the perfect stationery to represent his personality and taste. I couldn’t agree more. It wasn’t too long ago that I wrote letters on a regular basis. When I was in elementary school it was to my very first pen pal named Shasta- I still remember the school picture she sent me with her very first letter, introducing herself when we were paired up as part of a class project. She had brown pigtails and was missing a few teeth, as we all were at that point. We wrote back and forth for months and there was nothing I looked forward to more than getting those letters on the scratchy school-lined paper, usually with a drawing of sorts to spruce it up a bit. We’d send stickers, drawings, friendship bracelets, pictures of our pets, and letters talking about what we hoped we’d get for Christmas, what our brothers and sisters did that annoyed us, foods we liked, our favorite colors…you name it, we wrote about it. That habit evolved into the letters I’d write in middle school and high school…somewhere around the time I turned thirteen, I remember going on my first trip to Disney World with my friend Beth. We became friends with these two “dreamy” boys from Florida and Texas, and we started writing letter after letter to them after we got home. No one had cell phones yet, and to make a long-distance call was still pretty expensive, especially if you talked for hours, so phone calls had to wait for special occasions like birthdays. But the letters would go back and forth every two weeks like clockwork- there was absolutely nothing better than checking the mailbox and seeing a hand-addressed letter sitting there, contents unknown, waiting to be read. When I was in college, I wrote to my grandpa. He loved to write, and continued to write to me until his handwriting got shakier- and then he would get out the old typewriter instead. I kept him up-to-date on what I was learning in school, who my friends were, and shared the aspects of college life that grandparents would approve of. But regardless of what was said, the mere act of writing made a difference to me, and I hope it did to him. There’s something about getting a letter from someone that is a genuine compliment– it says someone made time for us, which is perhaps the most valuable thing anyone can do for someone else.