Tioli Creative Center

2009-08-26T21:37:00.000-07:00

Today was my last day as Tioli's.

It has been crazy here for the week, and today Charlie and Leo clearly couldn't bear to be here any longer. I know I shouldn't take it personally, since they have been so sad for a while. But now, Charlie says she will "walk through" me tomorrow and then hand in her keys.

People were coming to see me like it was Christmas season. Something about how Leo and Charlie had marked things for $1.00 but would take a quarter instead brought people into me like never before.

A customer exclaimed, "I wish I knew you were having a sale, I just finished making a huge order to Dick Blick." Dick Blick is some guy who seems to live on a thing called an internet and put me out of business, or something like that.

I wondered why they didn't just make everything the new price and keep me open. Guess it doesn't work that way.

Another customer informed them, "You’re getting low on your stock." Which Charlie usually thinks is nice of people to let her know, but she didn't seem grateful today.

The knitters were in for class today, too. It was nice to have them here with me on my last day as this particular place. They are a lively bunch, and I will feel especially quiet without them.

Someone I've never seen before came in and said, "Oh man, I’m so sad you’re leaving. Do you have any artist supplies?"

"Are you really going out of business?" a woman asked as she browsed.

"As opposed to what?" Charlie muttered.

Jack the dog has a little sister, I found out. She came in and visited today. She didn't do any of the stuff that Leo and Charlie thought she might do. And she did something they didn't think she would: she ate rat poison from one of my dark corners. So, while the knitters were being festive, and the customers were lining up, Leo ran the puppy to the vet to make her vomit and Charlie rang up sales. Boy, these people know how to go out with a bang.

I think that Charlie may have been over her stress-load capacity today, though. One customer asked her why she was going out of business and she snapped, "Apparently there is a worldwide recession thingy."

To which the customer cheerily agreed and added, "I've lost everything."

Another customer agreed about the tough times, adding, "It’s really bad on the island. I’m moving to the mainland. The vog is eating my teeth."

2009-06-28T12:05:00.000-07:00

"How can we help?" Leo and Charlie's friends are asking.

"What can we do to save the place?" I think they are talking about me.

I didn't know I was in danger. They are giving me the freak out, because I know that my foundation is solid. Sure, I had that little leakage problem, but that depends on whether you attribute it to me or the holes they cut into me for doors, windows, and air conditioners. We all dribble a little. And they fixed that.

So, I wonder what they mean by saving me. From what? Sure, I'm fond of these people, and all the weird doo-dads they have stuffed into me. I like all the colors they added. Most places don't get to see this much color, I think. Well, Sherwin does, but it's always contained. Me, I'm full of a riot of color.

Although, many of the colors on the displays have stayed empty longer than usual. Is this what they mean by "save"? Maybe they are wondering how they can get the colors filled up faster.

That's an easy one, to me. They just need to come in more often and buy more colors! I've seen how it works. Someone buys the things, Leo and Charlie use the money to get more, and then it starts again. So, really, they are confused. I don't need saving. I need more people breezing through me and picking up an item or two.

And really, I don't need that. I only need that if they want to keep calling me Tioli's. I've been other things. I'll be other things. I just wanted to play this way a little longer.

2009-06-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

Charlie closed me early today. I think maybe she got her feelings hurt, but she's not saying.

Here's what happened: Leo opened shop, and Charlie came in later. Charlie got a call on her thing that has no cords connected to me, and it was her sister. Apparently she called to see how I was doing, and Charlie told her, "Well, it's Leo, Jack (the dog), and me here, and it's an hour into the day. I think we've had one customer so far." Her sister must have said something about things getting better, because Charlie picked up her chin, but I could see she was feeling down.

When Charlie's friend came in, though, I was sure that things were going to look up. This was a woman who always spoke lovingly to Charlie and encouraged her to be brave. However, as time unfolded, the woman pulled one, then two, then three bags of yarn out to show to Charlie... from internet purchases. They were beautiful yarns, and very inspiring, as Charlie said. Then the woman handed Charlie three balls of yarn to return to me. Charlie did the return, and gave the woman store credit, and chatted. But after the woman left, I could see that something was really wrong with what went on. Even though Charlie clearly loved seeing the yarns, she was defeated in her demeanor.

Charlie went into the bathroom, and then came out and announced to Leo, "I'm glad for that visit today. It shows me the difference between talking like a friend and acting like one. Also, it ticked me off enough to get me out of my slump. Now that I'm angry, I have some energy to keep going."

And with that, she closed shop for the day, with dollars in returns outnumbering dollars in sales. What kind of doing business is that?

2008-11-11T05:50:00.000-08:00

It was at the start of summer that things changed. People just stopped coming in to me, driving by with focused expressions on their faces, not looking to the side or slowing at all.

Leo and Charlie took a while to notice the change. Then Nan mentioned it, "Barely anyone's coming in. I wonder what's going on?"

Across the street is a new guy, Sherwin Williams. I didn't know how to address the building now, like, "Mr. Williams" or if it was okay just to call it Sherwin. I asked Sherwin Williams (I decided I'd better just use the full name in my approach) about how busy they have been, or not, but since it is new in the neighborhood, it didn't have a relevant answer.

Polly (Polynesian Adventure Tours) and I are the old buildings in the area. But Polly hasn't talked to me in a while, thinking it is disloyal to her owners who are in the same business as my owners, Roberts Tours. (Charlie and Leo are just camping here, called "renting", for while they do their Tioli Creative Center business.)

Hey, since I'm owned by Roberts and rented by Tioli's, I guess I could be called Robert Tioli. I'll have to tell Sherwin Williams to call me that. Polly would laugh at my formal name for myself since she's pretty much always called me Rob.

Anyway, I feel like both the people and the structures have forgotten something.

The feeling from the people is that their money is going away. From the rising numbers on Tesoro's signs all summer, I would guess that money is going into the box that pumps out through a hose to their cars. Some day I'll understand why they don't just put the paper straight into the holes in the cars.

The feeling from the buildings is that they are going to sit vacant and not be kept up. I fear that too, I have to admit, since my yard guy just told Charlie that he hasn't been paid for four months, so he's not going to work for the landlords any more until he gets paid. I could see Charlie thinking about how to fix that situation and I wanted to yell at her that it's not her kuleana, but she seems determined to mix in. It means that I'm going to get all itchy again, though, with trash and plants growing up right against me, and the cats and bugs taking over. I was just feeling pretty trim and neat, with many of my sidewalks uncovered and restored. I haven't told the other buildings about the yard guy because it would just add fuel to their fears.

But the fact is that we're all going to die. The humans will go before us, unless there is an earthquake or lava flow or tsunami... you know, something that the earth does to shift around and get more comfortable. But over time, deep time, we will all pass into oblivion, and all my conversations with the other structures will cease their echoes. Our steel will rust, our cement crumble, and we will change form. All rooms are ruins.

It seems to me that since nothing lasts forever, we would do well to remember to be in this together (because we are). I find myself wishing that Polly would talk with me, that she would put away the word competition and let us cooperate to help both our owners do well. We could be having conversations about how to best meet our responsibilities of sheltering those who inhabit us, and how to comfort and encourage the buildings that lose their tenants. I've heard Charlie and Leo talking about how they need to continue to put money into their retirement account even though they can't afford to pay themselves. They seem to have the idea that time can be leveraged to their gain. This got me thinking. What if there are other ways to profit from change and not have it all be loss?

Over time I've come to see that if we can be patient, there is a positive trajectory to change. There is a bigger blueprint that I haven't completely seen, but get a sense of it being there under all our structures. I've seen that when people look to find the blueprint, there is a longevity to their efforts that doesn't exist when they act like today is how things will always be, no matter how wildly various each today.

This is what all of us are forgetting: Nothing lasts forever in its form. Whether people drive by or come in to the store will change some momentary things, such as losing Nan to a lay-off, and having a lot less stuff packed inside of me, and even whether Leo and Charlie will be the ones inside of me for much longer. But we all forget that these changes come in time anyway. It's the arrival of change sooner than we expect it that gets to us.

And then we forget to expect change at all.

2008-06-22T07:53:00.000-07:00

The dog is spoiled rotten. I'm glad to see the change, actually, from the terrified creature that it started as to the entitled silken-furred beggar that it has become. Such a rough start as Jack had deserves a rich finish.

Jack snoops into each of the knitting Aunties' bags when they arrive for class. He learned this from a handful of women who consistently bring him a new toy or treat when they visit. He also stares at them until they finish off a plastic bottle of water or soda, waiting for it to be loaded with his regular food and bits of treats as a toy. Some of the women have gotten into the habit of guzzling their beverages just to get the dog his recycled toy as soon as possible. The dog is spoiled rotten.

One of our regulars, Jesus, was in yesterday. He watched as Charlie doled out dried chicken strips to Jack each time he asked to go out and do his business. Charlie started watching Jesus more closely, wondering what his interest was in this exchange, and worrying a little for Jack because Jesus is also always hungry. Jesus was looking at Jack like a steak.

Shortly after this strange stare-down, Jesus asked, "Charlie, those beefs you have over there," referring to the chicken strips in the cookie jar decorated with dogs playing and topped with a ceramic dog-bone handle, "Are those for people?"

"Oh, they're chicken." Charlie corrected. "And they're for the dog."

"You know what?" Jesus grinned, "I been eating them for a month or more now."

Charlie laughed. She couldn't help it: Jesus had been getting into her snacks for months now without asking permission, so it seemed like a form of justice that Jesus had ingested dog treats because of not asking first.

"Ohmygod, I was thinking that they was some sort of health food, you know?" Jesus continued. "No salt, like that. Ohmygod, seriously."

Charlie laughed harder and then said the strangest thing, "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry!"

"That's alright," Jesus continued the strange reversal of apologies and forgiveness, "I been taking 'em home for a while now and eating 'em for snacks, thinking they was health food or something. You oughta try 'em, Charlie, they last for a while. You know? You chew and chew..."

Charlie just laughed and promised to tell Jesus' story to everyone. As Jesus left, he let out a little bark and exclaimed, "Oh! They changing me!!"

In telling the knitter Maria about the dog treats and Jesus, Maria muttered, "Such a Mexican, eating the dog food."

Charlie protested the self-slander of Maria's race, "Oh no, no, it's not like that. Jesus has addiction problems and he loses everything often. He's almost homeless. So, I imagine that he is hungry a lot of the time."

When Maria tried again to make a racial comment, Charlie shifted the focus. "There are so many aspects of the story that surprise me, but I think the most astounding is that he admitted to pocketing a bunch of the meat for snacks."

Maria laughed, "What are you complaining about? He stole your Dog Snacks!!"

2008-04-24T12:47:00.000-07:00

Charlie and Leo have been under structural duress. I can see the signs of strain on their supporting columns and the curve of gravity getting to their crosspieces. From what I can see, their difficulty is related to the things that people pass over the counter surface in trade for items that I have stored inside of me. When people trade a lot, Charlie and Leo seem to straighten up and have less of a load on their roofs. When people just talk about trading, or complain about how many pieces of paper or plastic or metal will be required of them to trade, my peoples' shoulders drop and they walk a little more slowly.

I wonder, is the paper that moves over the counter magical in some way? I see nothing special about it. Some of it is really quite untidy and unkempt. But people seem to value it more than anything else I've seen, including each other.

I get the sense that these pieces of paper are what keep Charlie and Leo here inside of me. It seems like they worry that they won't always be able to do what they are doing here. Their worry is silly. Of course they won't always be able to do what they're doing here! People wear out. (So do buildings and structures, but I've heard that a human year is like seven building-years.)

The Tesoro station is saying that its people are having the same visible sag. The gas station thinks that people should be happy because the numbers they put outside on its sign keep going higher and higher, which must mean things are getting better and better. More is almost always better, unless it's snow on your roof.

That's what everyone is acting like: as if they have too much snow on their roofs. But it doesn't snow in Hawaii. What is their problem?

2007-07-03T20:37:00.000-07:00

2007-05-21T20:37:00.000-07:00

knitting knitting knitting

My yarn room has been filled for days with women carrying a stick or two and some string in balls. They use these things to tie knots over and over until they have a big sheet of knots. I think they should call it knotting not knitting. Some of them use a wood hook and work on one knot at a time instead of a row of them.

The only thing I've seen before like it is the grandaddy longlegs in the electric room. But his web is made in a pattern and he doesn't pull it out over and over like these ladies seem to like to do. Well, no, they don't seem to like it. But they do pull out stitches a lot. They talk about following a pattern, but it doesn't really sound like it. Well, you tell me, what does it sound like they're doing in there? "Pee two, Kay one, Pee two tog, yo!"

Secretly, I love the constantly changing groups of colors. It's like I get my walls repainted regularly without all the wet stickiness involved. When the balls of yarns fall behind and rest against my wall, it is an amazing sensation. The eyelash yarn tickles, the wool is hot, and the silk feels like Jack's fur feels on my floors. The mohair makes my paint crawl, the bamboo feels related to me, and the angora feels like the soft part of peoples' arms when they lean against my door jamb.

The ladies have put an antique table in the yarn room, with old creaky chairs and new thick cushions. They sit there for hours and laugh and pull on strings. They eat their lunches in there, they talk about their lives and how much they enjoy the yarn. They also cuss and mutter and pull out the work. I've started to see the knitting patterns now, though. Here's the knitting pattern: an extra long bout of talking and laughing is directly followed by curses and pulling.

2007-04-21T22:00:00.000-07:00

I didn't know it until Charlie admitted it to the lady: I was named after a restaurant.

Oh my rebar! If I'd known, I would have curled inward with humiliation. Restaurants are such, well, people places. They are made for cockroaches to gather and people to drop crumbs and the mess. But Charlie said it was true.

The lady was talking with Nan when Charlie came in that day (Charlie sure comes in to work later in the day a lot... Hasn't Leo noticed this? And then he tells her to feel free to head home early too. It looks unfair to me.)

The lady, I was saying, was standing at the counter, telling Nan and Leo that she was the woman who had Tioli's in San Deigo. I thought, No. Not a restaurant. An Italian restaurant, with food and stuff like that to eat right there. I knew that Charlie would set the record straight when she walked in on the conversation, but instead, she started crying and said something like, "I am so touched!"

The lady was touched too, and they talked about Judy's Tioli's and me and how it all seemed like a parallel existence. Judy's husband Willy was diagnosed with cancer the month that Charlie and Leo opened my doors as Tioli's. By that December, Willy had died. Judy sold their Tioli's to a burger guy, and my namesake was changed. Charlie said she was glad to hear of the change directly from Judy because it would be a disappointment to try to visit them and find it so different. (Another example of human simplicity, as if things never change.)

So, I'm named after a restaurant. I was prepared for complete humiliation by that idea. But when I listened to Judy and saw how she already loved me, I felt differently about all of it. I felt like I had a Grandma. I felt like I have a heritage and am not some silly upstart idea of two disgruntled educators. I have roots.

After my Tutu Judy left, Nan was flipping through a cookbook from the original Tioli's that Judy left for us. In the cookbook was a picture of Judy's dog Bonnie. Nan pointed to the picture and said to Charlie, "Look at this. It's the exact image of Jack." The Bonnie dog and Jack could be twins.

That coincidence raised the shingles on my roof ridge, let me tell you.

2007-01-28T11:48:00.000-08:00

Charlie is angry. She is an artist, and she is angry at her group. "Artists have to be the most persnickety group on the planet." She told Leo.

He seemed to understand her exasperation as the customer that started the tirade checked out at the register with him and commented, "I have only used cerulean. I just don't know how this blue is going to work for me. Can I bring it back if it's not right? Oh, but that will ruin my painting! I don't know if I should risk it. I wonder if I should get this or just order cerulean on line?"

Leo just listened and waited. When the customer didn't decide, he prompted, "Would you like to purchase the paint?"

Another long debate followed, and I could start to see why Charlie gets so frustrated. I also see what Charlie is not seeing: the artists are frightened. They have found A Way to do something, and any changes threaten their success at a known activity. Charlie seems to lack compassion for people who already know how to do everything and need to do it repeatedly the same way. Doesn't she say all the time, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it"?

2007-01-07T12:22:00.000-08:00

Being a building, I don't get out much.

But I've heard of this thing called a Y in the road, where one road goes in two directions and a person has to choose which one of the two to take. (I wonder if there is such a thing as a W in the road? I've heard of a U-turn, and a T intersection...)

I suppose getting out and about, a person finds a lot of turns and choices. It has become clear to me that the more years a person has been making these choices, the more one-directional the person's trend becomes. In fact, the elderly people who come in here have one of two directions that they have taken: grace or grump.

The grumps don't like that Charlie doesn't have the exact whatever that they need, or that Leo is charging $1.75 for an item they can buy from the mainland for $1.50 (plus $6.05 shipping). The grumps know that pain hurts and they are in a lot of pain. They know that people can be mean, and they expect it. They know that you have to establish who's the alpha in the relationship, who is the customer and who is the servant. Leo told one grump after a long attempt at gentling her, "Try nice. If you can't try nice, try Walmart." The grumpy woman was at first shocked, then almost seemed grateful and looked like she might make a choice for grace.

The graceful sense that this is a place for play and playful spirits. If play is not for them, they exit with a smile. If they are still playing, they come in and carry on, gathering the tools for their very serious work of messing around. The graces are able to substitute one similar adhesive for their favorite, or one color that is almost right for the exact color. The grace-filled know that people can be mean about half as often as they can be loving. It's clear that they are familiar with pain, and see it as a part of them, not all of who they are. They think it's funny that my name stands for Take It Or Leave It. (The grumps need to hear that it also stands for "To Inspire Others, Live Inspired" so that they can swallow it... even though they both mean the same thing.)

Charlie looks worried. I think she sees that she has been taking the turns at each Y that will eventually lead her to being a grump. I wondered when she would notice how critical she was... now maybe she can let herself play.

2007-01-07T12:05:00.000-08:00

I've been talking with the other stores in the area, and I'm convinced now that Leo and Charlie are doing many things wrong.

Except for the Tesoro station next door, none of the places have food to eat for whoever comes in. And the Tesoro says that the food only goes out of there, not in. The people in my shop are constantly bringing in food. Sometimes a "regular" (that's the people that make Charlie and Leo smile when they come in the door and Jack the dog actually gets up to greet them instead of shying away) will bring in a pizza, or some harvest from their home farm. I've seen jars of yogurt made from goats, papayas, hands and arms of bananas, bags of tangerines, soap made from goats' milk (they don't eat that), candy and chocolates and cookies, dragonfruit and some fruits so strange I forget the names. I've seen chinese pretzels, sushi, Kona coffees, deli sandwiches, and all sorts of other foods come in with the regulars.

And if it's lunchtime here, somehow whatever Charlie and Leo are having ends up circulating among whoever is here. A sandwich gets cut into five large pieces, everyone has some chips. If they go get sandwiches, everyone orders. If they order pizza to be delivered, even if Leo and Charlie are the only two here, they order enough for twelve people. And about that many people have pizza. And they still take some home.

I'm starting to wonder if food is like gekkos. Food just springs up out of nowhere and when some gets here, you notice there is more and more around. Before I was called "Tioli's" or "The Shop", the people who filled me would bring each their own small portion of food in separate wrappings. If their foods touched, no one could eat it. I thought maybe that was poisonous to humans, sharing food. But Leo talks about breaking bread together, and from what I have seen so far, when bread is broken together, it makes more bread. That seems like the smarter way to do food, if you have to have it.

But even the Tesoro tells me that people don't eat inside of there. And they definitely don't share their food. That would just be weird. I didn't tell the station that my people share their food. I had thought it was a little strange, but I kind of like it too.

2007-01-07T11:45:00.000-08:00

A family came in today to see what I contained. (Leo and Charlie keep claiming that they have something here for the whole family, so now I would get to see what that meant.) The kid looked at a few things but didn't select anything to take out of me. The mom found a basketful of treasures that she was going to trade paper for. The dad found some things that he was willing to have his plastic card examined in order to take the things home.

The child sat in my entry way, playing with the wax in the burning candle. She played with the unburning candle, and the dog. She played with the items that were on sale, putting straw hats on the bears and putting the bears in the candles. Finally she said to her mother, "Mom, let's go. One... Two..."

I've heard the parents do the counting game with children, but this is the first that I've witnessed it being played the other way around. It doesn't seem to work as good this way.

2006-11-21T11:28:00.000-08:00

The foundation-only humans are the most interesting to watch. They are much less predictable than the already-built people. Humans call them children until they are framed-in and the roof is on so that plumbing and wiring goes in. Then they shift to the label adult, or young adult.

But these little ones, with their exposed rebar and crawlspaces empty behave like little mirrors, little lakes reflecting the activity that surrounds them. One travelled through my halls moving items from one place to another like Charlie does at the end of the day. In fact, everything that the little one moved, Charlie retraced back to its other spot when the little one left. The little one also slipped many items into her mother's basket purse, all of which the mother discovered when exchanging her money for treasures at the counter with Charlie.

Some little ones enter me very quiet and sad. It seems like they have gotten something poured into their foundation that wasn't intended to be there in the original plan. They adjust their progress with the inclusion, invisible but present.

2006-10-20T14:19:00.000-07:00

Charlie built the sales counter with a big round area. I think she had in mind some designer space, with a large bowl of fruit or a huge vase of flowers gracing a wide open space. She said she wanted to give a sense of space and openness...

The counter area is piled up with a variety of items. There are the boxes of goods that are being checked in (they call that receiving). The boxes hold a wild mixture of everything I contain in a Santa's bag of stickers, helicopter parts, yarns, pens and pencils, beads, sketch pads, drafting tools, adhesives...

There are also piles of paper that Charlie keeps amassing. Maybe she's a paper collector. I've heard that humans collect things. Or maybe it's a throw-back to her days of working in the schools. Schools tell me that they are storehouses for marked-up paper. Does that make me a school, if Charlie keeps piling up the papers? We have classes here.

No. No, I'm still a warehouse.

Also on the counter is a box of rolled sandwiches that Charlie, Leo, and Nan bought for lunch and couldn't eat them all. Some of the customers will help them with finishing off the sandwiches. Plates and napkins sit on the crowded counter to encourage the grazing. Charlie's huge soda cooler (she tries to tell people it's water, but she needs to work on her poker face), and Leo and Nan's drinks are on the counter. On the circle there is a slightly bent helicopter being attended to by Leo and the customers who are gathered there, eating sandwiches, sitting in the stools, and chatting.

At the opposite end of the counter, near where Nan is working to receive the mountain of new items, there is a secret pile of treasures that Charlie collects to buy from her own store. Nan has a similar small pile next to Charlie's.

What is it about people and stuff? I suppose I never will understand since I'm just a glorified container. But that's really why I wonder about this. I have plenty of stuff inside of me. My middle section is used for storing and organizing furniture for a nearby showroom. The stuff flows through me regularly. But on either end of my warehouse, there are offices where people stay in me each day for their work. In those places, some of the stuff stops flowing. They call it owning the stuff, and then it stays with them. If I owned all the stuff that came through me, I'd clog up. Don't people clog up?

Charlie's pile of treasures and papers looks pretty clogged to me. She's acting like she thinks it's congested too. I can tell by how she walks in circles, trying to get around the happy customers to find something productive to do. She looks bewildered. But then, instead of unclogging her mountain of papers while she can't move around the shop, she goes in the yarn room and plays with the dog instead. How much sense does that make?

2006-07-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

Charlie and Leo have occupied me now for one year. They talk about ideas like "making it" and good indicators. All I see is a couple of people who do what they love to do and sell to other people the stuff to do it all too.

Leo works at the classroom tables or sales counter on his and others' radio-controlled helicopters. He flies a small yellow one inside of me and boy does that tickle. I'm familiar with fans that blow on my walls, but my ceiling and floor itch with the unaccustomed breezes.

Charlie flits from one kind of project to another. She has three paintings in progress stacked in the class area, unfinished jewelry, card, and scrapbook projects, collections of clay, string, and paper, and a continual little stack of new projects to start. Right now, she is knitting and goes between three knitted projects.

Maybe these projects are what they mean when they talk about "making it"?

2006-07-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

A customer just came in and asked Charlie, "Do you have mask-making materials?"

"Yes." Charlie chirped. She's always glad when someone asks for something I actually contain. She jumped up and showed the man and his wife the plastic mask forms and rigid wrap plaster bandages.

"Fine." The man said. "And where around here would we be able to buy lava?"

Charlie was really quiet for a minute. Then she replied, "Well, anywhere on the ground around here, I suppose."

"Are there any guidelines for using it?" His wife inquired.

"Well, there is a tradition of people saying that Pele doesn't want to leave the island. So if you're planning to take any of the rock to the mainland, you might reconsider."

"Oh yes," the wife said, looking at her husband as if to say I told you so, "I've heard of people's houses burning down..."

"And just having bad luck and mailing the lava back." Charlie added.

"So are there guidelines for handling the lava?" The man persisted.

Charlie got really quiet for about two minutes. Then she asked for clarification, looking at the man's eyes for the joke, "Are you wanting to make a mask out of the molten lava?"

"Yes!" He exclaimed, "I just think it would be so incredible with the stuff pouring out right here, you know?"

"Problem is," Charlie almost stuttered, "anything you might use to form the lava would get vaporized."

"Oh really?" The man looked skeptical.

"It would burst into flames, whether it contained moisture or not." I could see that Charlie was picturing a small explosion.

"Poof!" The wife said.

2006-06-01T01:50:00.000-07:00

Charlie and Chris arrived this morning with Jack. All three of them are sprinkled with sand on their feet. They left bits of sand along my entry floor. I can feel the saltiness of it. I'm trying not to be jealous of wherever they visited that was made of sand. After all, sand is useless as a building material by itself. Every warehouse knows this. But still, the women and the dog seemed so happy about having been to this sand before coming here.

Everyone except the dog seemes awfully tired. When they talk about the fatigue, they mention me as the main reason. But that seems strange. I'm just here. I was here before they got so tired and I'll probably be here after they're resting. So how could it have to do with me?

Nan and Charlie are talking about a bet that they have going. Charlie thinks that they will reach 20,000 items in inventory by next month. Nan bet on October, and Leo on December. Charlie says she's going to lose the bet because they are only at 17,000 items now. Maybe those thousands of things are why everyone is so tired. Maybe they use my name "The Shop" as the label for those myriad things that I contain? I don't want to make anyone tired. I want to help and to shelter, to contain.

2006-05-26T01:44:00.000-07:00

I'm full today with a handful of people, but not many customers. The families that work here seem to be getting more comfortable in their work. Today Charlie went into the hobby shop to do her writing on Leo's workbench. Leo had his gas helicopter in repairs on the classroom table, where their daughter, Chris, has two school projects spread out. Their friend, Nan, is here today with her son Kosai. Nan is the only one helping customers. Kosai also has homework he is doing at the counter.

School buildings have told me how much paper passes through their doors in a year, but until I saw these two kids working, I thought they were exaggerating.

In the very middle of my loading zone, in the three story opening of this warehouse, Charlie built the sales counter. It is a large U shape, where customers can stand at either outer arm. One arm ends in a large round shape where people regularly gather at stools and chat.

I've heard the old sugar plantation homes talk about how people gathered at a table and talked story. But I never thought I, a warehouse, would get to see it happening.

2006-05-19T01:08:00.000-07:00

It's here. The dog is inside of me, and it tickles! It seems to be trying to stay low and sneak around. It looks very afraid. It's following Charlie everywhere. When Charlie went upstairs to turn on my lights and fans, the dog wouldn't follow her up the steps. She carried it up and it ran around with her up here, but then it wouldn't go down the steps. Who hasn't seen steps? Maybe it's a stupid dog. Maybe all dogs are stupid?

This dog, uh, Jack, is stuck to Charlie like a shadow. It's black like a shadow too. It's sleeping now, like it has done for most of the day. It's sleeping under a display table, way under, on a cushion that Charlie put there with a small note above him "I'm Jack. Please pet me." I'll bet he hates that note! He doesn't look like he wants anyone to pet him.

Whenever Jack passes the balls of yarn and skeins of wool in the yarn room, I see him glance at the fuzzier ones. Charlie hasn't noticed it yet, because the dog is always behind her when he looks. He does the same thing with Sebastian, the bear that sits on the entry table with the fancy candles and the note about kids. The note says that unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy. This morning Charlie crossed out the puppy part.

Oh no! Charlie just went into the restroom, and Jack didn't follow her in. He looks lost and frightened. He looks like he's going to pee on my floor. No, no, bad dog. Wait, he's going for his little bed under the table. Oh phew. My floor is safe. Wait, Jack has stopped to pick up Sebastian in his mouth, carefully. Now he's carrying the stuffed bear over to his bed. Oh look, he has the bear curled up under his paw and chin. I'll bet Charlie's going to give him a scolding!

Here she comes.

"Oh, say. There you are you silly dog!"

She petting him! That's not the way to train a dog.

"Look at you! You got yourself a bear. Sebastian is pretty slobbery now. I think he's yours. But no more shopping, please."

Jack looks like he understands her, but I'll bet he doesn't. I'll bet the yarn is next. Still, it's awfully sweet the way he looks at Charlie with such trust.

And the bear suits him.

2006-05-17T00:53:00.000-07:00

Leo and Charlie talked today about Charlie's visit to another structure. She went to a facility built to shelter many animals, called the Humane Society. Charlie said, "I went there to visit and pass out some affection."

Leo asked, "Meet anybody to take home?"

Charlie looked surprised. She hesitated, "There was one pup -- they list him as full-grown but I'll bet he's about a year old. He's a border collie mix named Jack. He's very shy. He acts like he has been hurt a lot, beaten or something."

"Why don't you go get him? You could go early to pick up the kids from school and get the dog."

"I uh..." Charlie sat down. "I really went just to visit. But, he is a sweet dog. I would intend to bring him here to the shop every day, if we got him..."

(That's me, I found out: "The Shop.")

I tuned out the generator humming next door and listened more carefully. Would I get to contain a dog? A shop dog? Neither of them spoke. I waited to see if they would decide, but they didn't say anymore. So, I guess I don't get to see a dog from my insides after all.

Later, Charlie brought it up again. "I think I'd like to visit Jack again and then sleep on it."

"How long does it take to adopt him?" Leo asked.

"Since he's already neutered, we could take him home today."

"You could get him when you pick up the boys..."

"Is the High School before or after the shelter on the highway?"

"Before. What does he look like?"

"He's like the cattle-working dogs in the movies, smallish, long silky black hair with white spots on his back feet and a white blaze on his chest."

"Sounds good."

And then, again, they said nothing more about it! I wished that they would decide. And I was unsure of what I wanted them to decide. I've heard that dogs can sometimes stink up a building. I don't want to be stunk up.

2006-02-03T23:30:00.000-08:00

They had two classes, no three, here today. In one class, a group of women wearing red hats played with clays and baked their products in a toaster oven. Charlie was excited about meeting this tribe, having heard that they had a great sense of fun. But the women looked painfully shy to me.

Another class of women put together wires and rocks and hung them from their wrists and ears. They all seemed pretty pleased with what they had put together.

As a building, I can only accept what comes together inside of me. I don't choose colors or materials. I just watch the combinations and wonder. For example, when people come together here and they have never met before, they try not to say hi. But they look at each other to see if they recognize the other. If they both make eye contact at the same time, then apparently they are required to say hi, because they always do. If they see that they already know eeach other, then they say a different hi, this one with a much longer i.

Then they talk. They talk about other people. Even when someone asks, "So what have you been doing lately?" The answer is about other people.

There are a few exceptions to this behavior I've noticed. Sometimes it's never about other people. With these talkers, even if they are talking about adhesives, they are talking about themselves. For example, "Will this tape do any harm to my photograph of myself with the President?"

The last class today consisted of one woman being taught by Charlie how to make knots in colored string. They would make some knots, say bad words, and then pull out the knots. It didn't look like that would be much fun but both women seemed to think it was a pleasant challenge.

2005-11-14T23:22:00.000-08:00

A customer came in today, surprised that I was here. People talk as if my structure didn't exist before they filled me with creative tools. The customer said something to Charlie about how glad she was that we were here. I t made my heart sing. People love me as this place! The customer also confused me. She said, "Town's changing so much, like everything else."

Charlie said to Leo that the customer was just talking story with her. But why would the customer make a conversation about something as dependable as change? Charlie seemed baffled too, but she answered with, "Yes, change brought us here. I hope change brings more friends to town for all of us."

The customer was less enthusiastic. She seemed to feel like the change should have stopped by now, maybe around the time she landed on the island. Of course, she didn't say that, but I sensed her strong feelings. The gas station next door acts like that. It complains about all the people trampling in and out on its floors. I try to remind it that all those people are why it is here, but it never had the quiet years that I did in order to be able to know how wonderful it is to feel all these feet on my halls again.

2005-09-25T23:15:00.000-07:00

She's called Charlie. I thought he was the Charles, but now I have it straight. He's Leo.

She paints a pretty picture. He draws customers with charm. They are creative and have injected my hollows with reverberations of play, fun and a joy in life. It's like I've been full of dry rattling wood and suddenly my space is growing things.

Some of the things are pretty ugly. Charlie tries combinations that even a mute building knows won't work. I suppose that's not so bad, but she has a hard time giving up when something is not working. I guess her tenacity could be a hopeful trait for me if I have any difficulties. I can know that she won't throw me out too quickly.

2005-09-23T23:08:00.000-07:00

Back in the days when I was filled with cabinetry and a carpenter, I thought that humans needed to find work that they love, and then they woulnd't feel so overwhelmed. If only people could discover who they really are, and what is in their hearts to do (I thought), then work could be manageable. Maybe work could even be like play.

Like me, for example. If I tried to be a sidewalk, or more likely, a house, I would really have to strain to fit the model and try hard to contain myself. But by knowing that I am a building, specifically a warehouse, I don't strain at all. Sometimes people have a clear structure like that. The carpenter that was here before was more of a stockbroker than a handyman. He would struggle to attend to the work he had assigned to himself with the wood while he couldn't wait to do his calls for trading.

But I guess something wasn't allowing him to be who he was. Maybe it was the other people who paid him and then told him what to make. Or maybe it was himself. I don't know because I never heard the orders for him to be a carpenter.

And now, Charlie and Leo are here. It is clear to me that they love what they are doing. And still I see them wear down, and get frustrated, struggle and strain. Maybe people can even be overwhelmed by playing?

2005-07-17T13:51:00.000-07:00

They're never going to get it done. Charlie and Leo have definitely taken on more than they can do in one lifetime. Their friend from the school where they used to work has started coming in this summer to help them set up. Her name is Nan, and her son Kosai is in summer school to get his PE out of the way so that he doesn't go through the school year sweaty.

I've sweated before. It's terrible. The moisture ruins a structure.

Anyway, Nan told Charlie that she would like to hang out during the mornings that Kosai is at school rather than drive back home only to drive right back. Charlie was thrilled. Nan is busy at work here, just as if she were starting the new business with Leo and Charlie. In fact, they get going some days so that Nan brings Kosai from the school to do his homework in the leather chair upstairs while the three continue their work of building fixtures and checking in stock.

Maybe, just maybe, with Nan's help, they will actually get a shop made here. I can't believe they painted my floors and surfaces in the loading areas and intend to let the public in here too. I feel like I'm wearing a bikini, and most of me is suddenly exposed. I've never had this many people inside all my spaces before. It's shocking.

I don't know how they're going to make it...

2005-06-15T12:28:00.000-07:00

They have named me a creative center. I don't know what it means to be creative. I've never created anything on purpose. By having four (or more) walls and a roof, I create a space for all this creative work. So, just by being what I am, I suppose that I am creative. That's what these people seem to be telling everyone who comes here: that we are creative as our true selves. It looks like these people believe that everyone is creative (probably even me) and that we express our creativity not by forcing it in order to become Real Artists, but by relaxing into being ourselves. I have a hard time hanging on to this idea, and so do the customers. They keep coming back to hear it again in another way, "It is okay to be you." And, "The world needs you to be you, not something or someone else."

But even with all this being what or who we are, what is all this creating? Part of my space is filled with thousands of items used to put things together. Another part of my space contains hundreds of items used to take things apart. The rest of me is stuffed full of things that get put together and taken apart.

Artists and hobbyists seem to prefer the putting together. Maybe that's what it means to be creative?