Armchair Travel
Monday, June 29, 2009
Who Murdered the Promiscuous Icelandic Architect?
I'm getting emails from all over the blogosphere saying, "Well? You said you were going to find out who killed Birna the promiscuous Icelandic architect in Yrsa Sigurdardottir's book My Soul to Take. Was it the Chinese stockbroker, as you predicted?"
Well it turns out he's Japanese, and no, it's not him, but he does provide a key piece of evidence literally as he's walking out the door of the new age spa on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula.
He's the one that first spotted the dead fox. That's why his horse threw him.
Turns out, in Iceland, muderers don't take any chances. They drug you and put you in a stall with a stallion with a dead fox tied around your neck, taking care to first stick a bunch of pins in your feet so you don't walk the earth after death and haunt them.
Did you know that horses are driven to a frenzy by the smell of a putrefying fox? Not a newly dead one. A real stinky one. Makes them go crazy.
Or they might smack you with a rock, smash your face repeatedly with a canoe paddle and rape you with a state of the art sex toy, performing the same procedure with the pins in the feet, just to be safe, either before or after the rape; it's not quite clear.
I likened Yrsa Sigurdardottir to Tony Hillerman for interesting characters and ingenious plots that tell you about a culture you might not be familiar with.
I would add a comparison to Sue Grafton, whose books I also snap up quickly, because Sirursdardottir provides the same funny insights on modern life and the same ability to show how the secrets of the past intertwine with the mysteries of the present.
She has great fun with the new-age spa and the aura reader and the mediums and the sex therapist and the owner who's a real nincompoop who lets someone steal his cell phone and text message the victim: meet me on the beach at such and such a time. Naturally he becomes the prime suspect and Thora the lawyer has to get him off the hook.
Thora wants the horny sex therapist to keep her mitts off her (Thora's) good-looking German boyfriend (who doesn't speak Icelandic) so she tells her (the sex therapist, in Icelandic) that he's impotent. It sounds like a funny subplot, but in the end it provides the clue that solves the whole mystery.
On top of that, Thora's teenage son hijacks her camping trailer and arrives with his little sister and his pregnant girlfriend who gives birth and makes Thora a grandmother. What more could you ask for?
I loved this book, but I have to say, it had one switcheroo too many. The last little bit where it went from the farmer's wife to the nicest person in the book was too much.
The bitter farmer's wife (Birna was having an affair with the farmer) has been excluded as the murderer because Birna's body had shown signs of rape.
Then, once it whas been shown that the rape was 'artificial,' she becomes a suspect again. It would have been better to leave it there and have her concoct a third devious plot to murder Thora. Instead Sigurdardottir pins it on the nice girl who has been taking care of her disfigured friend in a wheelchair. I though that was going a bridge too far, but that's a quibble.
I have all kinds of quibbles with Tony Hillerman and Sue Grafton and Rex Stout and Agatha Christie, but I read their books over and over.
Here's a video by Yrsa Sigurdardottir about writing crime fiction in Iceland.
I'm definitely going to read her first book Last Rituals, even if I have to go buy it new (ouch!). ¶ 8:40 PM 0 comments
Well it turns out he's Japanese, and no, it's not him, but he does provide a key piece of evidence literally as he's walking out the door of the new age spa on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula.
He's the one that first spotted the dead fox. That's why his horse threw him.
Turns out, in Iceland, muderers don't take any chances. They drug you and put you in a stall with a stallion with a dead fox tied around your neck, taking care to first stick a bunch of pins in your feet so you don't walk the earth after death and haunt them.
Did you know that horses are driven to a frenzy by the smell of a putrefying fox? Not a newly dead one. A real stinky one. Makes them go crazy.
Or they might smack you with a rock, smash your face repeatedly with a canoe paddle and rape you with a state of the art sex toy, performing the same procedure with the pins in the feet, just to be safe, either before or after the rape; it's not quite clear.
I likened Yrsa Sigurdardottir to Tony Hillerman for interesting characters and ingenious plots that tell you about a culture you might not be familiar with.
I would add a comparison to Sue Grafton, whose books I also snap up quickly, because Sirursdardottir provides the same funny insights on modern life and the same ability to show how the secrets of the past intertwine with the mysteries of the present.
She has great fun with the new-age spa and the aura reader and the mediums and the sex therapist and the owner who's a real nincompoop who lets someone steal his cell phone and text message the victim: meet me on the beach at such and such a time. Naturally he becomes the prime suspect and Thora the lawyer has to get him off the hook.
Thora wants the horny sex therapist to keep her mitts off her (Thora's) good-looking German boyfriend (who doesn't speak Icelandic) so she tells her (the sex therapist, in Icelandic) that he's impotent. It sounds like a funny subplot, but in the end it provides the clue that solves the whole mystery.
On top of that, Thora's teenage son hijacks her camping trailer and arrives with his little sister and his pregnant girlfriend who gives birth and makes Thora a grandmother. What more could you ask for?
I loved this book, but I have to say, it had one switcheroo too many. The last little bit where it went from the farmer's wife to the nicest person in the book was too much.
The bitter farmer's wife (Birna was having an affair with the farmer) has been excluded as the murderer because Birna's body had shown signs of rape.
Then, once it whas been shown that the rape was 'artificial,' she becomes a suspect again. It would have been better to leave it there and have her concoct a third devious plot to murder Thora. Instead Sigurdardottir pins it on the nice girl who has been taking care of her disfigured friend in a wheelchair. I though that was going a bridge too far, but that's a quibble.
I have all kinds of quibbles with Tony Hillerman and Sue Grafton and Rex Stout and Agatha Christie, but I read their books over and over.
Here's a video by Yrsa Sigurdardottir about writing crime fiction in Iceland.
I'm definitely going to read her first book Last Rituals, even if I have to go buy it new (ouch!). ¶ 8:40 PM 0 comments
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Bhante Kassapa Bhikkhu
"A pay phone was ringing, and it just about blew my mind.
When I picked it up and said hello this foot came through the line..."
When I picked it up and said hello this foot came through the line..."
Bob Dylan's 113th Dream.
I was talking to my daughter about something, I don't remember what, but I was about to say it "blew my mind." I'll never abandon the ideals of the hippie movement, but I'm the first to agree that many of its idioms should be left behind, and this may be one of them.
We talked about it and decided that I should just say it "changed everything I think about everything." I was touched when she put up a comment on the entry about Ernie Pyle's column "This Dreadful Masterpiece."
"This changed everything I think about everything," she said. I feel the same way. It is a truly breathtaking piece of writing.
I met a guy in Port Arthur, Texas, Bhante Kassapa Bhikkhu, who in a few moments, changed everything I think about everything. I was with a bunch of travel writers at the Buu Mon Temple and we had just been in Shangri-La and we had wanted to stay there. Can you blame us?
So we might have been a teeny bit grumpy, but after meeting and talking with Bhante Kassapa for a few minutes and touring the temple gardens, I felt this overhwhelming sense of peace and happiness, and all the other writers said they felt the same thing.
It was partly his words and his message: anyone can attain enlightenment, happiness is always within reach, everything you've always believed deep down inside is true after all.
It's a great message, but there was something else that went beyond what he said. I can't put my finger on it, but it was unmistakable. We all felt it. And I still feel it. It changed the way I read a newspaper and the way I fold my rain gear.
It's surprising how much happier you can be if you're not aggravated by human stupidity, greed and folly or frustrated by inanimate objects.
See what you think of his talk about Buddhism Basics.
Bhante Kassapa served in the US Air Force and later became a Franciscan monk. Then he left the order and worked for the US Aviation Administration for 17 years before becoming a Buddhist monk at the Buu Mon Temple in Port Arthur.
Once I checked, I found he has lots of fun clips on YouTube. Here he replies to a guy who asks him why he turned his back on God.
¶ 8:48 PM 3 comments
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Martin Luther King, Jackie Roosevelt Robinson and Francis Albert Sinatra
But others, like Frank Sinatra singing with the Count Basie Orchestra, I play over and over.
"No one ever tells you what it's like to love and lose,
Or this one:
One way to enhance your life very cheaply is to buy an old record player and buy old LPs for a dollar. Some of them, like my Leslie Gore album, you only want to hear one song: that would be "You Don't Own Me," produced by Quincy Jones. The rest is "Sunshine Lollipops and Rainbows" and "Judy's Turn to Cry."
But others, like Frank Sinatra singing with the Count Basie Orchestra, I play over and over.
"No one ever tells you what it's like to love and lose,
How it feels to waken and have breakfast with the blues,
How to go on living, how to face another day,
No one ever tells you the way.
No one ever tells you that it's just another fling,
No one ever warns you when your heart begins to sing.
Someone tells you later, 'All is fair in love and war,'
But no one ever tells you before."
Or this one:
"I won't dance, don't ask me
I won't dance, don't ask me
I won't dance, Madame, with you
My heart won't let my feet do things they shouldn't do."
This record is a lot more scratchy than I would usually buy, but I'm having tons of fun with it.
And besides being arguably the best singer ever, Frank Sinatra did nearly as much to fight racism as Martin Luther King and Jackie Roosevelt Robinson. He got a lifetime achievement award from the NAACP, and he earned it.
Not just after he was the king of pop music and no one could touch him. This guy got in bar fights when he was a young singer when black members of his band were insulted. He spoke out for racial equality when he was just starting out, when it could have hurt or destroyed his career.
When Sinatra was criticized for making 'political' statements, he was defended by a young music critic in New York who said he just might have the right idea, a guy by the name of Ed Sullivan. He later had a variety show you might have heard of.
Partly, he was motivated by the lynching of several Italians in New Orleans. "It wasn't just black people hanging from those f---ing ropes, " he said.
And when you think about it, Frank Sinatra reached people who could not be reached by Jackie Robinson or Martin Luther King -- people who would not be altered, even a little, by a personal interview with Gandhi himself: wiseguys, would-be wiseguys, people who don't pay a lot of attention to moral or philosophical considerations, if you know what I mean.
Frank said Sammie [Davis Jr.] was part of the Rat Pack and that was that. These otherwise unreachable types got the picture, once and for all: racism is not cool. Frank snapped his fingers and made it so.
Thanks Frank. You made a better world.
¶ 9:59 AM 1 comments
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sojourners
Here's a photo of me and my friends Vince and Mark at the Sojourner Truth Memorial in Florence, Massachusetts.
They came all the way from Washington State for our college reunion in New Haven, and we had a great time at the Peace Pagoda, Puffer's Pond and other Pioneer Valley attractions.
¶ 12:41 PM 1 comments
Friday, June 12, 2009
Don't Tell Darlings
"One hundred miles, its length and breadth, the four-square city stands.
Its gem-set walls of jasper shine, unmade by human hands.
And it won't be long 'til I shall pass through yonder gate so fair.
Gonna have fifty miles of elbow room on either side to spare."
That's from one of my favorite songs in the whole wide world, Fifty Miles of Elbow Room, by the Rev. F.W. McGee. So when I heard the Don't Tell Darlings sing it at the Book Mill in Montague Friday, I knew I had found kindred spirits.
These Book Mill concerts on Friday nights are really great for people like me who don't like concerts. In some stadium the seats are cramped and even if it's someone I really like, I want to leave after the first hour or so. I'd pay twenty bucks to get out.
At the Book Mill the seats are all really comfortable and the concerts are about an hour and a half. There are about 20 other people there and you get a chance to meet with the musicians.
Listening to the The Don't Tell Darlings, Millie Ammirati and Megan Rose Orwig, is like sipping peach juice. I snapped up their CD like a hungry trout. Millie is Earl Scruggs in high heels, and Megan has Lester Flatt beat by a mile.
Their vocals put me in mind of the Carter Family -- Mother Maybelle and June Carter Cash and Deanna Carter and Carlene Carter -- because of their great harmonies.
I can't think of a higher compliment than that.
¶ 8:10 PM 0 comments
Monday, June 08, 2009
Corporate Drug Dealers
The corporate drug dealers of America, with the blessing of the drug-dispensing medical profession, has declared that depression is caused by a chemical imbalance and can be "cured."
I wish to challenge that claim.
If, as they say, this "cure" has been discovered, why is it a different cocktail of expensive mind-altering drugs for each patient? And why, in the case of a single patient, do physicians experiment with so many different combinations of expensive mind-altering drugs?
Anti-depressants, by the way, account for more public and private expenditure than all other drugs combined, including $1,000-a-month AIDS treatments.
This doesn't sound like a cure to me. It sounds like a racket, a racket that is taking a terrible toll on human lives. Two that I know of personally.
They tried every expensive mind-altering drug in the catalog on my friend Holly. They finally decided they had the right combination when she started sleeping 18 hours a day. Then they decided they had a successful outcome. And it was successful, for them.
If they had taken the time and trouble, they would have found she had multiple sclerosis, but it was easier to whip out their prescription pads. As it was, the correct diagnosis was not made until years later, when she finally found out that she wasn't crazy and began to understand what was bothering her and get proper treatment.
Their laziness and ineptitude took a serious toll on her life.
After a stroke 12 years ago my father suffered severe anxiety, so they gave him an expensive anti-anxiety drug. Not surprisingly, this made him depressed, so they gave him an expensive anti-depressant, on top of the expensive anti-anxiety drug.
As a result of these expensive anti-anxiety drugs and these expensive anti-depressants, my father has been, for 12 years, more anxious and depressed than anyone I have ever seen in my life.
But he sleeps 18 hours a day, so that's a successful outcome. And it is, for the corporate drug companies and their dealers masquerading as healers. He's a cash cow! A two-fer!
When he was a teenager, my father ran over his arm with a truck. He had it propped up and chocked to fix something and the chocks gave way. A tire ran right over his elbow. They told him he'd never move his arm again.
He carried a briefcase full of bricks and squeezed a rubber ball and wound up playing semi-pro hockey, and by the time I came on the scene, he just had a scar and a funny story to tell.
My father's stroke was comparatively minor. No one wants to have a stroke, but from what they told me, this was the kind of stroke people have a good chance of recovering from.
I am absolutely certain that my father could have recovered from his stroke if he had not lost, completely and utterly, his sense of self.
And he had the privilege of paying tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars, from the medical benefits he accrued through his lifetime of work, for the expensive drugs that destroyed his life.
His stupid doctor I don't care about, but to the corporate drug dealers who pocketed all that money, I have a message: You have not heard the end of this. My name is Inigo Montoya... ¶ 7:28 PM 0 comments
I wish to challenge that claim.
If, as they say, this "cure" has been discovered, why is it a different cocktail of expensive mind-altering drugs for each patient? And why, in the case of a single patient, do physicians experiment with so many different combinations of expensive mind-altering drugs?
Anti-depressants, by the way, account for more public and private expenditure than all other drugs combined, including $1,000-a-month AIDS treatments.
This doesn't sound like a cure to me. It sounds like a racket, a racket that is taking a terrible toll on human lives. Two that I know of personally.
They tried every expensive mind-altering drug in the catalog on my friend Holly. They finally decided they had the right combination when she started sleeping 18 hours a day. Then they decided they had a successful outcome. And it was successful, for them.
If they had taken the time and trouble, they would have found she had multiple sclerosis, but it was easier to whip out their prescription pads. As it was, the correct diagnosis was not made until years later, when she finally found out that she wasn't crazy and began to understand what was bothering her and get proper treatment.
Their laziness and ineptitude took a serious toll on her life.
After a stroke 12 years ago my father suffered severe anxiety, so they gave him an expensive anti-anxiety drug. Not surprisingly, this made him depressed, so they gave him an expensive anti-depressant, on top of the expensive anti-anxiety drug.
As a result of these expensive anti-anxiety drugs and these expensive anti-depressants, my father has been, for 12 years, more anxious and depressed than anyone I have ever seen in my life.
But he sleeps 18 hours a day, so that's a successful outcome. And it is, for the corporate drug companies and their dealers masquerading as healers. He's a cash cow! A two-fer!
When he was a teenager, my father ran over his arm with a truck. He had it propped up and chocked to fix something and the chocks gave way. A tire ran right over his elbow. They told him he'd never move his arm again.
He carried a briefcase full of bricks and squeezed a rubber ball and wound up playing semi-pro hockey, and by the time I came on the scene, he just had a scar and a funny story to tell.
My father's stroke was comparatively minor. No one wants to have a stroke, but from what they told me, this was the kind of stroke people have a good chance of recovering from.
I am absolutely certain that my father could have recovered from his stroke if he had not lost, completely and utterly, his sense of self.
And he had the privilege of paying tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars, from the medical benefits he accrued through his lifetime of work, for the expensive drugs that destroyed his life.
His stupid doctor I don't care about, but to the corporate drug dealers who pocketed all that money, I have a message: You have not heard the end of this. My name is Inigo Montoya... ¶ 7:28 PM 0 comments
Friday, June 05, 2009
Everyone is Crying Out to Me, Beware
¶ 7:22 PM 0 comments
I went to a really enjoyable reading/concert tonight in the intimate and comfortable upstairs room at the Montague Book Mill.
Sara Majka read three of her delightful dream narrative works, which I hope will find their way into print. One is about seeing Peter Pan at a bus station. He was hired back in the 60s, when everybody had wacky ideas, and never got fired, and now he's kind of old and sad.
The headliner was Alina Simone a native of the Ukraine who grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts, sings songs by the late Yanka Dyagileva, a Siberian punk icon, as well as her own material.
She usually performs with a large ensemble, but tonight she accompanied herself on guitar, and all I can say is, Yikes! This lady is the real deal. She has a beautiful, powerful voice and she's a really first-rate musician and songwriter.
She honed her skills playing on streetcorners in Austin, Texas, and in clubs in New York. Her albums are called 'Everyone is Crying Out to Me, Beware,' 'Placelessness,' and 'Prettier in the Dark.'
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Yrsa Sigurdardottir
Any good trip deserves a good book, and on my trip to New Haven I took My Soul to Take by Yrsa Sigurdardottir, the Tony Hillerman of Iceland. It's the second in a series about Thora Gudmundsdottir, the first being Last Rituals, which I am going to go buy.
Thora is a lawyer, divorced with two kids, and her 16-year-old son has just gotten his girlfriend pregnant. See, now you've got me right there. I have to see how all this comes out.
On top of that she recently won a big case, but she used all the money (and more besides that she borrowed) to buy a camper to take family vacations and that didn't work out, so she's kicking herself about that.
And then there's a murder at this New Age hotel owned by a client of hers, and there's ghosts and Nazis and everything. I haven't finished it yet. I'll let you know how she wraps it all up. Right now I'm guessing it's the Japanese stockbroker who says he sprained his ankle.
Sigurdardottir is like Tony Hillerman because she introduces the reader to a culture they're probably not familiar with and creates really engaging characters, and you just have to find out how things turn out for them. ¶ 8:54 PM 0 comments
Thora is a lawyer, divorced with two kids, and her 16-year-old son has just gotten his girlfriend pregnant. See, now you've got me right there. I have to see how all this comes out.
On top of that she recently won a big case, but she used all the money (and more besides that she borrowed) to buy a camper to take family vacations and that didn't work out, so she's kicking herself about that.
And then there's a murder at this New Age hotel owned by a client of hers, and there's ghosts and Nazis and everything. I haven't finished it yet. I'll let you know how she wraps it all up. Right now I'm guessing it's the Japanese stockbroker who says he sprained his ankle.
Sigurdardottir is like Tony Hillerman because she introduces the reader to a culture they're probably not familiar with and creates really engaging characters, and you just have to find out how things turn out for them. ¶ 8:54 PM 0 comments
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
College Reunions
I guess everybody has their own idea about what makes a great college reunion. The ones I've been to haven't been so great as reunions because so many people I'd like to see don't show up.
There are half a dozen people I would dearly love to see who live less then two hours away, and they aren't there because like me they really don't identify with the institution.
I probably wouldn't go myself except I have these two great buddies, Mark and Vince, who come all the way from Seattle, and it's worth the trip just to check in with them.
I've always had a great time at these reunions because the food is great, there's an open bar all day, and I meet a lot of people I never knew when I was in college, and instead of asking them what they "do" like everyone else, I ask them what they've been reading and we have great conversations.
Mark and Vince and I (class of '74) usually wind up partying with the '79s and the '84s and the other hip young people.
This year Mark and Vince came up to the Pioneer Valley after the reunion, and we went to the Peace Pagoda in Leverett and the Sojourner Truth memorial in Florence, and dined at Bertucci's in Amherst and the River Valley Market in Northampton.
We also had a great dinner here at Harmony House where no one had to be the designated driver.
We did a lot of catching up and a moderate amount of reminiscing, and just being with old friends brought back memories of that brave new world we faced in 1974.
Like most Americans, I shed old lives like snakeskins, and generally that's a good thing. But once in a while you get reminded of something that was important then and is just as important now.
Like that anti-war movement. I so thought we were over that. It's a pain in the ass to have to go over it all again. ¶ 7:26 PM 1 comments
There are half a dozen people I would dearly love to see who live less then two hours away, and they aren't there because like me they really don't identify with the institution.
I probably wouldn't go myself except I have these two great buddies, Mark and Vince, who come all the way from Seattle, and it's worth the trip just to check in with them.
I've always had a great time at these reunions because the food is great, there's an open bar all day, and I meet a lot of people I never knew when I was in college, and instead of asking them what they "do" like everyone else, I ask them what they've been reading and we have great conversations.
Mark and Vince and I (class of '74) usually wind up partying with the '79s and the '84s and the other hip young people.
This year Mark and Vince came up to the Pioneer Valley after the reunion, and we went to the Peace Pagoda in Leverett and the Sojourner Truth memorial in Florence, and dined at Bertucci's in Amherst and the River Valley Market in Northampton.
We also had a great dinner here at Harmony House where no one had to be the designated driver.
We did a lot of catching up and a moderate amount of reminiscing, and just being with old friends brought back memories of that brave new world we faced in 1974.
Like most Americans, I shed old lives like snakeskins, and generally that's a good thing. But once in a while you get reminded of something that was important then and is just as important now.
Like that anti-war movement. I so thought we were over that. It's a pain in the ass to have to go over it all again. ¶ 7:26 PM 1 comments
Monday, June 01, 2009
Yet Another Fan of Mike Kittredge
It's always great to get feedback about blog entries. Here's a letter from Elissa OConnor, who read the entry about Mike Kittredge, Dear Mike K, Thanks for the Ride. Elissa was the one who thought of having it snow all year round, and that's still an important feature of the Yankee Candle flagship store:
"I just happened to stumble across your blog about Mike Kittredge and how things used to be at Yankee Candle. I'd like to share my two cents, as I've recently found the need to look for work again, and am sad to think that YCC wouldn't be the same as it used to be..
I started as a candlemaker at YCC through a temporary employment agency in 1992, and was hired directly by the company at the end of my tenure with the agency. Back then, the candlemakers resided in the "flagship store" with viewing windows where customers could watch the candlemaking process, and the Christmas Shop was nonexistent.
I remember Mike K, who was always entertaining at the company breakfast,which was then a monthly event. He would occasionally appear at our regular friday pizza lunch as well, to catch up and give encouragement and praise to those of us in the trenches. It was heartwarming to see an employer who cared so much about those who worked for him.
I remember the announcement of his illness, during one breakfast, and we were all heartsick. But Mike perservered, and we saw him fight the good fight, and we fought along with him to make yankee candle the best it could be.
When plans were laid to begin construction of the new Christmas Shop, Mike encouraged us all to add our ideas, giving us free rein to share our childhood fantasies. We met with engineers and construction crew to develop those ideas into what is now today a true fantasy land. Im proud to have been a part of that process. When I mentioned how nice I thought it would be to see it snowing year round, I was met with a few quizzical looks but low and behold, there it is today.
Mike was also fond of pulling ideas from his employees in a unique and personal way. My former supervisor, and life long friend was invited to lunch with Mike one afternoon and he was treated to a ride in Mikes (Jaguar, I believe it was?) which was a treat in itself, but during the course of the conversation, he was able to voice his idea for a line of candles that reflected New Englands particular flavors. Thus the Maine Blueberry and Cape Cod Cranberry scents were born, among others. This I cannot verify, as I sadly wasn't invited to lunch that day.
But Mike was always around, always happy to greet us with a wave and "how are ya", and in my many years in the manufacturing field, I have yet to meet another company owner like him. The corporate world could learn a lot from him." ¶ 7:43 AM 1 comments
"I just happened to stumble across your blog about Mike Kittredge and how things used to be at Yankee Candle. I'd like to share my two cents, as I've recently found the need to look for work again, and am sad to think that YCC wouldn't be the same as it used to be..
I started as a candlemaker at YCC through a temporary employment agency in 1992, and was hired directly by the company at the end of my tenure with the agency. Back then, the candlemakers resided in the "flagship store" with viewing windows where customers could watch the candlemaking process, and the Christmas Shop was nonexistent.
I remember Mike K, who was always entertaining at the company breakfast,which was then a monthly event. He would occasionally appear at our regular friday pizza lunch as well, to catch up and give encouragement and praise to those of us in the trenches. It was heartwarming to see an employer who cared so much about those who worked for him.
I remember the announcement of his illness, during one breakfast, and we were all heartsick. But Mike perservered, and we saw him fight the good fight, and we fought along with him to make yankee candle the best it could be.
When plans were laid to begin construction of the new Christmas Shop, Mike encouraged us all to add our ideas, giving us free rein to share our childhood fantasies. We met with engineers and construction crew to develop those ideas into what is now today a true fantasy land. Im proud to have been a part of that process. When I mentioned how nice I thought it would be to see it snowing year round, I was met with a few quizzical looks but low and behold, there it is today.
Mike was also fond of pulling ideas from his employees in a unique and personal way. My former supervisor, and life long friend was invited to lunch with Mike one afternoon and he was treated to a ride in Mikes (Jaguar, I believe it was?) which was a treat in itself, but during the course of the conversation, he was able to voice his idea for a line of candles that reflected New Englands particular flavors. Thus the Maine Blueberry and Cape Cod Cranberry scents were born, among others. This I cannot verify, as I sadly wasn't invited to lunch that day.
But Mike was always around, always happy to greet us with a wave and "how are ya", and in my many years in the manufacturing field, I have yet to meet another company owner like him. The corporate world could learn a lot from him." ¶ 7:43 AM 1 comments
