“If I’d only known what was in this book forty years ago, how much more money would I have made and how fewer problems would I have encountered?” Karen wonders. Isn’t that true for all of us in our lives—if we knew what we know now we could have done better at what mattered to us. And how did we learn what we know? Through experience, particular experience and interaction, the medium of the best writing. In 2014, Karen Lorene published Building a Business, Building a Life, an intriguing memoir about owning and running Facèré, a jewelry art business, and the lessons the author learned. With her permission, we are posting Chapter 18: “Rants and Raves.” The strategy of writing anecdotes from her years in the business, alternating between ones that she calls rants and others she calls raves about what goes right in serving the public and advancing a business, will inspire writing about core life values. You can trust that the anecdotes you choose will evoke, as hers do, the values you hold dear.

Chapter 18: Rants and Raves from Building a Business, Building a Life by Karen Lorene
Published here with permission of the author.

Rave: The husband who says, “My wife told me that whatever I buy at Facèré is what she wants.” We keep a list of past successful purchases to help direct such husbands to the next successful purchase. Everybody’s happy!

Rant: Early on, when we sold antique furniture, a customer eyed a set of pressed-back chairs. My dad had refinished the set. My mom had woven six new cane seats for the set. The customer found one chair marked $125. I had forgotten to write, EACH on that tag. I explained to her that the price was not for the set, but for each chair. The customer demanded I sell her the set, and if I didn’t she would talk to her lawyer-husband and he would make me sell her the set. I crumbled.

Rave: A wonderful gentleman has flown twice from Palm Desert to Seattle for the sole purpose of shopping at Facèré. He buys numerous gifts. Why? Because of a refund. We discovered that his first purchase had been tagged wrong. We mailed a note of apology and a check for $300. He called to say that never in his life had he ever received money back from a retailer. That December he flew up to holiday shop and then in the middle of the summer he flew up again. We love him as much as he loves us.

Rant: Then there is the $13,000 sale that ended up being a $1,300 sale. A rare 1830s necklace and earrings in its original box had lost its tag. When my staff person typed in the price she missed a zero and sold the set for $1300 instead of $13,000. After the customer left, my staff person realized her mistake. She immediately went to the hotel where the out-of-town buyers were staying. It was raining. It was cold. My staff person waited in front of the hotel, tears streaming down her face, and sighed with relief when she saw the mother and daughter approaching the hotel. She stopped them. She told them exactly what had happened. She assumed there would be no problem. The mother took immediate control and with great consternation said that it wasn’t their fault we ran such a poorly managed store. Her exact words, “Mistakes are how you learn, young lady. No I will not return the purchase. It belongs to us.”

And the staff person deserves a rave. She insisted, on the threat that she would no longer work for me, that I let her trade her personal jewelry collection to make up the difference. It is five years later and she is still with Facèré, tenure of twenty-five years. She is one of the most wonderful employees one could ever want.

Rave: There are customers who have a piece of jewelry on lay-away at any given moment. They payoff one and purchase another. They come to visit once a month. They pay steadily and with great cheer.

Rant and Rave: One of our very best customers has had a piece on lay-away for over a year. She paid the first and second payments. It has now been ten months and we have not heard from her. We’ve written notes saying all she needs to do is keep the account alive with the most minimal of payments or let us know she no longer wishes to purchase the piece. Perhaps she is ill. Perhaps she has lost her job. This is a confusing situation. We wrote her a note that we will put the item out for sale if we do not hear from her in one month. She can maintain and use her credit whenever she wishes. We hope she is all right. If she reads this, we hope she will call or e-mail.

Rant: A woman receives a gift from our gallery. She does not like it. She waits three months to return it. She chooses another piece. She leaves happy. She returns two months later. She does not like her choice. She wants money. We say, “No.” She can trade. She leaves.

Two weeks later she walks in as if nothing had happened. She trades for a pair of earrings. The difference is $2.75. I give her the change. I think (I hope!) she is happy.

Rave: A couple comes to the gallery to buy wedding bands. They pick up an 1880s band which is inscribed. Inside the band are the initials, B.W. to K. M. 1884. The initials are theirs! Goosebumps all around.

Rant: A customer calls to tell me, “I am one of your best customers. I’d like you to donate to my environmental cause.” I tell him that I am on an arts board, and all of my discretionary giving is to that cause. He responds, “If you don’t give, and give generously, I’ll never shop with you again.” I didn’t. He didn’t.

Rave: Many young jewelers come into the gallery and ask thoughtful, insightful questions. They handle the jewelry with awe and respect. They understand if we have to leave them for a buying customer. They wait patiently and have more great questions. They are a pleasure.

Rant (but then…): I walk into Vanity Fair at Pier 70 to Jim Morgan’s greeting, ”We’ve just been shoplifted.” I ask, “Are you sure?” “Positively. A Ruby ring.” “Describe him.” “Short, Eighteen. Male. Red T-shirt.”

I grab the Polaroid camera we use for photographing appraisals and I’m out the door. ”Wait, maybe you shouldn’t …” I hear as I leave and ignore the warning. I yell back, “I’m going to go find him!”

I do! Minutes later I stand in front of a young man in a red shirt. ”What are you doing?” he demands. “I’m taking your picture.”

”Why?”

“I just might need it.” I snap the picture and I walk away because it dawns on me I’ve probably done something really stupid.

Back at the store, I call 911.

The police arrive. Take the photo. Minutes later, one officer returns to announce, ”We got him! He said he didn’t know what we were talking about, but when we checked his pockets, we found this.” The officer holds up a ring. My ring.

“Do you want to press charges or do you want your merchandise back?”

“I want the ring back.” Later, I think, what happened to my outrage, my sense of justice? It vanished. I just wanted the ring.

The policeman leaves (with the ring …evidence) and returns with a good story. They told the kid that the woman whose ring he had stolen wanted it back. No charges. The kid said it was his ring. It was a coincidence. The cops cuffed him, opened the car trunk, and found items from every store on Pier 70.

Weeks passed. I received a notice to be at the kid’s hearing. Perhaps I would be called as a witness. Turns out he pleaded guilty that morning, so that when they brought him into the courtroom it was for sentencing.

He entered the room with two guards. Cuffed. In jail pajamas. He looked around the room. His eye caught mine. He lifted his shackled hands and waved. To me. Like we were old friends.

Broke my heart.

And, yes I got the ring back.

Rave: Jordan is a child of five. She has blond hair, cut like the hair of the child on the Dutch cleanser tin. While waiting for her mom to get off work, her dad brought Jordan to visit Facèré.

The first day they stood outside studying jewelry in a window. I heard her dad read the information that accompanies each artist’s display. He reduced the words to manageable bites: “This is the work of Alisa Miller. She lives in Chicago. She works in silver and gold.”

“Oh!” Jordan’s response put a bright exclamation point to the end of her father’s sentence. They moved to the next case and he read the next description, “This is the work of Biba Shutz.”

“Biba?” Jordan asked, pleased at the double syllables. She laughed a bright, clear cascade and repeated, “Bi-ba-shutz!”

Now they entered the gallery. I acknowledged the dad’s informative reading to his daughter with the words, “You can’t start too young!”

With pride, he brought her to be introduced, “This is Jordan. She loves jewelry!” I shake her hand. “And I’m Karen. And I love jewelry, too!”

He walked her around the gallery, reading three or four more cards. When they got back to the front desk, he stepped back and directed Jordan, “Tell the lady what lasts forever.”

“Well,” she said, and honest true, she placed her pointing finger just beside the dimple in her cheek, ”What lasts forever are diamonds and …” she paused, as if for effect or perhaps to remember the word, she said, ” …and infinity.”

Over the weeks we’ve almost become friends. One Monday she told me that her weekend project with Fimo (having seen the work of Cynthia Toops), didn’t go so well. “It broke,” was her concluding analysis. “But I’m not giving up.”

Then one day, she did what I think a very large percentage of the women in the world do. She headed to the diamond case tugging her father along. She pointed and said, “I like that one. Oh, and look at that one!” Her fingers made round smudges on the case, enthusiastically finding her next favorite diamond.

She is attracted by something deep and unexplainable, something that lasts forever, right there, along with infinity.

Rants and raves? Comes with the territory.

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After you have read Karen’s chapter, think about using her “rants and raves” strategy in your own writing. Then sit down and write from your life experience. Okay, you might want to take time to peek at the author’s business website first to see the wonderful jewelry in her gallery.