RE-BRANDING A BUSINESS IS HAAAARRRDDD (said in a very whiny voice.) I like to think I am a graphic designer but, as I learned yesterday, I am not. You don't just say you want your business name to be "The Clock Tower" and it just magically happens. You have to check AVAILABILITY people: facebook, instagram, etsy, domains, blah blah blah, snore snore snore. You have to pick based on AVAILABILITY PEOPLE! My business name HAD to have meaning... that was the part I really cared about. Connecting my business name to my childhood is my new favorite. I'm using a lot of caps. I'll stop and get to THE GOOD STUFF.
As you can tell, my brain is fried from learning a new program to design stuffandthings (one word. I use it often. Nope. Not a typo.) for my real job while creating for my photography/jewelry business logo. I put those hands together. Also, I didn't do it alone. Actually, I didn't do most of it. Brian Ruch is the real hero. He went to school for graphic design and has a lot of patience working with and teaching this moron the ropes. He is always willing to lend a helping hand and spends hours dealing with me so he, for sure, deserves an award. Ruchie, I hearby award you the winner of the Best Designer Who Puts Up with So Much of My Shit with Grace and Hasn't Killed Me Yet Award! Congrats! Ok, I've completely gone off track but had to give that god-send a major shout-out. But this end re-brand/logo project - or near the end - starts with a story... let me tell you a story...
Once upon a time, I was born in a very small town and my dad wasn't nice to me. The End.
LOL! Oh, don't worry we made up later and had a good 13 years before he passed away 2 years ago but I digress... Since turning 40 last year, I have thought A LOT about my childhood; especially those things, events, people, hobbies and stuff that made me HAPPY. there's caps again. damn. sorry.
As a child my happy places were the library and the park. There was "town park" and "school park," both a stone's throw from my house, both equally appealing to my 7 year old eye. Yes, there were sidewalks throughout, other children to play with and fun equipment but honestly, I was most happy alone, sitting in the rocks, looking for indian beads. Oh the thrill of the hunt! I did it for hours and hours...and hours. Funny thing though: I don't remember what I kept them in. Maybe mom or my sister remembers. I sure as hell don't. My best guess would be my super fashionable fanny pack with my matching neon spandex bicycle shorts.The searching and looking and exploring and hunting and collecting and the excitement of just around the next hill of rocks could be the biggest and baddest indian bead this side of the Mississipp. To say I loved it is an understatement.
I waited all year for our town's annual Historical Days, three glorious days of the "town park" filled with booths and booths of treasures at discount prices, I might add. There were also booths of yummy treats but I was less interested in those. Even the fair rides and mom's sorority's free-to-me snow cone booth couldn't keep me as captivated as the rock-stones-jewels-gems-shells (and oddly, feathers attached to roach clips for my purple mesh cowboy hat) booth. I am not exaggerating when I say: I was there late Thursday night while that poor husband and wife team tried to set up shop, asking countless questions, talking late into the night, mixing up their baskets upon baskets of goodies and messing up their displays. But every year, they came, took all my money in the dawn hours of Friday morning and never once told me to get lost or shut up. The rest of the weekend was spent, basically, asking my mom and dad for more money, eating free sloppy joes from the Methodist Church ladies just because I talked to them and walking around looking at stuff while showing people all the loot from my most favorite booth. It was glorious.
One summer, when I was about 10, my mom told me I could join whatever club/group/sport I wanted so I told her I wanted to join a group in the big city next door called the Gem & Mineral Society of SB...and she actually let me! The monthly meetings were held in a dark, old, dusty church basement and the drive was over a half hour away. Now, my mom worked full time and my sister and I would have been latch-key kids but no one locked their doors back then. We were home alone and had free reign of the town. No worries. After my mom busted ass at work, she still drove me to those meetings and let me tell you! I was the star of that show! No really, I was 70 years younger than every single member and they thought I was just precious and darling and quite the hoot. The best part was the end of summer bus trip to the Chicago Field Museum and, again, I don't remember a thing about that...just that I went. My mom just told me that I had the old people singing the Wheels on the Bus and 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall the entire trip while taking my rightful place at the front of the bus like a conductor. It's weird, the stuff you remember and the stuff you don't.
My other happy place was the Olive Township Public Library. It. Was. Heaven. I think I fell in love with air conditioning there. Sifting through hot gravel was rewarded with the cool of the stacks. And that smell! Oh how I loved that smell! The library, for me, was about searching, looking, finding and learning and just around the next corner could be my new favorite book of all time! Again, the thrill of the hunt. There's a pattern here. I would check out like 30 books in the morning and after reading them, return them a few hours later to check out another 30 and on and on. Now kids, this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth and books had cards in the back that you signed your name to and they stamped the card, which they filed away, and the book with a date stamp so you knew when to return it. I didn't need reminding. That poor librarian! She painstakingly sat there patiently while I sllloooooowwwly signed my complete name to every. single. card. multiple. times. every. single. day. Finally, the library, for the first time ever, and just because of me, put a new rule in place: you could only check out 10 books at a time and you had to keep them for 24 hours. (maybe it wasn't a rule for everybody but that's what I was told because you bet your ass I asked). Either way, I would finish up those 10 books in the morning then head to the park after lunch to begin the digging. Again, glorious.
I turned 40 six months ago and I'm trying to tap more into my authentic self and other Rachel Hollis advice but honestly, I just wanna do what makes me happy. I love my job. I have a great family. But what about ME? Like something all my own... so I decided to change up my portrait photography business and include making jewelry, and then I realized I could use my love of antiquing too! So, again, I love the hunting, searching, looking, digging and finding that is everything antiquing. Again, around the next corner could be the treasure of my dreams. Usually it isn't but it's the hunt that's the best part. I have always been drawn to the boxes of dusty old photos, post cards and greeting cards. So much history and people are just selling it! It shocks me, to be honest. I have read all about Alice and her boyfriend through the postcards at my favorite antique mall. I love holding something in my hands with a post mark of long ago - some are so old, that the time is on them! Like legit history in my hands. Mind blowing. So I had an idea... why not make a one-of-a-kind pair of earrings with these for myself...then I thought maybe other people would enjoy them too... so that's really all there was to it.
Covid-19 has put a damper on the antiquing for now but I did call a local shop and he brought 10 cards out curbside and I bought them. He knew what I liked but Facetimed with me anyway and I picked them. It was so effin awesome!! #customerforlife! Anywho, I have branched out some and shopped small for wooden pieces and beads to incorporate into new designs but I am missing those dusty, old, broken down boxes in dark corners. I know everyone is struggling right now but this is my blog and I'll cry if I want to. I'm not crying. You're crying.
So, my business, THE OLIVE TALE - I kinda feel like after that long ass post, if I have to tell you the significance then you don't deserve to know but I'm a giver so here goes: The because my niece thought it should have a the, Olive for my childhood library with tales that sparked my imagination and took me to worlds beyond that small town - like England!- and Tale because this is my story, those photos and cards are other people's stories...everybody has a story. So, I may never sell another pair of earrings but reviving those cracked pieces of history by making them into something great and becoming a piece of my story is my favorite part. Now, I don't know Alice but I feel like I do. I think of her and her boyfriend during the Spring of 1914 often. I think I might keep these for myself.
Just kidding. They're for sale in my Etsy shop. Desperate times call for desperate measures and, plus, why should I hog all the good ones. You never know! Around the next corner could be that thing, that rare diamond in the rough that becomes my new favorite pair of earrings of all time.
As you can tell, my brain is fried from learning a new program to design stuffandthings (one word. I use it often. Nope. Not a typo.) for my real job while creating for my photography/jewelry business logo. I put those hands together. Also, I didn't do it alone. Actually, I didn't do most of it. Brian Ruch is the real hero. He went to school for graphic design and has a lot of patience working with and teaching this moron the ropes. He is always willing to lend a helping hand and spends hours dealing with me so he, for sure, deserves an award. Ruchie, I hearby award you the winner of the Best Designer Who Puts Up with So Much of My Shit with Grace and Hasn't Killed Me Yet Award! Congrats! Ok, I've completely gone off track but had to give that god-send a major shout-out. But this end re-brand/logo project - or near the end - starts with a story... let me tell you a story...
Once upon a time, I was born in a very small town and my dad wasn't nice to me. The End.
LOL! Oh, don't worry we made up later and had a good 13 years before he passed away 2 years ago but I digress... Since turning 40 last year, I have thought A LOT about my childhood; especially those things, events, people, hobbies and stuff that made me HAPPY. there's caps again. damn. sorry.
As a child my happy places were the library and the park. There was "town park" and "school park," both a stone's throw from my house, both equally appealing to my 7 year old eye. Yes, there were sidewalks throughout, other children to play with and fun equipment but honestly, I was most happy alone, sitting in the rocks, looking for indian beads. Oh the thrill of the hunt! I did it for hours and hours...and hours. Funny thing though: I don't remember what I kept them in. Maybe mom or my sister remembers. I sure as hell don't. My best guess would be my super fashionable fanny pack with my matching neon spandex bicycle shorts.The searching and looking and exploring and hunting and collecting and the excitement of just around the next hill of rocks could be the biggest and baddest indian bead this side of the Mississipp. To say I loved it is an understatement.
I waited all year for our town's annual Historical Days, three glorious days of the "town park" filled with booths and booths of treasures at discount prices, I might add. There were also booths of yummy treats but I was less interested in those. Even the fair rides and mom's sorority's free-to-me snow cone booth couldn't keep me as captivated as the rock-stones-jewels-gems-shells (and oddly, feathers attached to roach clips for my purple mesh cowboy hat) booth. I am not exaggerating when I say: I was there late Thursday night while that poor husband and wife team tried to set up shop, asking countless questions, talking late into the night, mixing up their baskets upon baskets of goodies and messing up their displays. But every year, they came, took all my money in the dawn hours of Friday morning and never once told me to get lost or shut up. The rest of the weekend was spent, basically, asking my mom and dad for more money, eating free sloppy joes from the Methodist Church ladies just because I talked to them and walking around looking at stuff while showing people all the loot from my most favorite booth. It was glorious.
One summer, when I was about 10, my mom told me I could join whatever club/group/sport I wanted so I told her I wanted to join a group in the big city next door called the Gem & Mineral Society of SB...and she actually let me! The monthly meetings were held in a dark, old, dusty church basement and the drive was over a half hour away. Now, my mom worked full time and my sister and I would have been latch-key kids but no one locked their doors back then. We were home alone and had free reign of the town. No worries. After my mom busted ass at work, she still drove me to those meetings and let me tell you! I was the star of that show! No really, I was 70 years younger than every single member and they thought I was just precious and darling and quite the hoot. The best part was the end of summer bus trip to the Chicago Field Museum and, again, I don't remember a thing about that...just that I went. My mom just told me that I had the old people singing the Wheels on the Bus and 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall the entire trip while taking my rightful place at the front of the bus like a conductor. It's weird, the stuff you remember and the stuff you don't.
My other happy place was the Olive Township Public Library. It. Was. Heaven. I think I fell in love with air conditioning there. Sifting through hot gravel was rewarded with the cool of the stacks. And that smell! Oh how I loved that smell! The library, for me, was about searching, looking, finding and learning and just around the next corner could be my new favorite book of all time! Again, the thrill of the hunt. There's a pattern here. I would check out like 30 books in the morning and after reading them, return them a few hours later to check out another 30 and on and on. Now kids, this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth and books had cards in the back that you signed your name to and they stamped the card, which they filed away, and the book with a date stamp so you knew when to return it. I didn't need reminding. That poor librarian! She painstakingly sat there patiently while I sllloooooowwwly signed my complete name to every. single. card. multiple. times. every. single. day. Finally, the library, for the first time ever, and just because of me, put a new rule in place: you could only check out 10 books at a time and you had to keep them for 24 hours. (maybe it wasn't a rule for everybody but that's what I was told because you bet your ass I asked). Either way, I would finish up those 10 books in the morning then head to the park after lunch to begin the digging. Again, glorious.
I turned 40 six months ago and I'm trying to tap more into my authentic self and other Rachel Hollis advice but honestly, I just wanna do what makes me happy. I love my job. I have a great family. But what about ME? Like something all my own... so I decided to change up my portrait photography business and include making jewelry, and then I realized I could use my love of antiquing too! So, again, I love the hunting, searching, looking, digging and finding that is everything antiquing. Again, around the next corner could be the treasure of my dreams. Usually it isn't but it's the hunt that's the best part. I have always been drawn to the boxes of dusty old photos, post cards and greeting cards. So much history and people are just selling it! It shocks me, to be honest. I have read all about Alice and her boyfriend through the postcards at my favorite antique mall. I love holding something in my hands with a post mark of long ago - some are so old, that the time is on them! Like legit history in my hands. Mind blowing. So I had an idea... why not make a one-of-a-kind pair of earrings with these for myself...then I thought maybe other people would enjoy them too... so that's really all there was to it.
Covid-19 has put a damper on the antiquing for now but I did call a local shop and he brought 10 cards out curbside and I bought them. He knew what I liked but Facetimed with me anyway and I picked them. It was so effin awesome!! #customerforlife! Anywho, I have branched out some and shopped small for wooden pieces and beads to incorporate into new designs but I am missing those dusty, old, broken down boxes in dark corners. I know everyone is struggling right now but this is my blog and I'll cry if I want to. I'm not crying. You're crying.
So, my business, THE OLIVE TALE - I kinda feel like after that long ass post, if I have to tell you the significance then you don't deserve to know but I'm a giver so here goes: The because my niece thought it should have a the, Olive for my childhood library with tales that sparked my imagination and took me to worlds beyond that small town - like England!- and Tale because this is my story, those photos and cards are other people's stories...everybody has a story. So, I may never sell another pair of earrings but reviving those cracked pieces of history by making them into something great and becoming a piece of my story is my favorite part. Now, I don't know Alice but I feel like I do. I think of her and her boyfriend during the Spring of 1914 often. I think I might keep these for myself.
Just kidding. They're for sale in my Etsy shop. Desperate times call for desperate measures and, plus, why should I hog all the good ones. You never know! Around the next corner could be that thing, that rare diamond in the rough that becomes my new favorite pair of earrings of all time.
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