Talk About it Tuesday
In one of my previous posts, I talked about a seashell toilet seat that I had received as a Christmas gift one year. It was the coolest, weirdest, gift, but I really loved it. In that post, I think I mentioned that my parents had a seashell souvenir business when I was in high school.
They had a business license so that they could sell their seashell crafts at local craft fairs. They had a variety of products they made. There were little critters made out of shells with googly eyes that were mounted on little stained blocks of wood. Pine cones decorated with seashells and a mini-starfish at the top, like a Christmas tree. A whole variety of fridge magnets were also included.
My mom was the artist, making the actual crafts. My dad was the one who built the display cases and spray painted the sand dollars and most of the behind-the-scenes stuff.
Then they got a wholesale license and started mass producing their crafts. And by mass producing, I mean there were a couple friends of theirs who helped assemble the pieces for them. My parents would pay them under the table for their work.
They had rubber stamps made and bought mini-popsicle sticks by the gross. The rubber stamps had the names of various beaches and cities on them. They went up and down the east coast selling their souvenirs to beach shops. They would customize the souvenirs by stamping the popsicle sticks with the beach name and then gluing them onto whatever had been ordered.
Eventually, they hired a photographer and marketing person to create a catalog of their products that they then took to vendor fairs. That’s where they connected with new clients and took orders.
It was a whole thing. They enclosed the screened in porch on our house so that it was a workshop. Of course, it bled over into our living room and dining room as well.
But here’s the thing, I HATED that business. And I have no idea why. At one point, I helped assemble some of the magnets for my mom.
I don’t know why I hated it. My parents knew I hated it. I would love to have a business like that now. Looking back, it was pretty cool. My mom was obsessed with seashells and so she successfully turned it into a business. Eventually, she and my dad made that their full time jobs. Of course, there were other shady reasons they were able to not work and focus on the business, but that’s another story for another day.
I don’t know if I didn’t like the fact that they were so devoted to the business and not me. I don’t know what it was. Honestly, that business benefited me as a teenager because there were many weekends that they left me home alone so they could either attend craft fairs or deliver orders to shops at the beach. I didn’t live up to my teenage potential with those weekends alone though. From what I’ve been reading in my journals, I definitely thought about it.
Not long after my dad left, my mom had to file bankruptcy. She did her best to keep the business going without him, but she couldn’t do it. I had already gone off to college at that point and I was in no position to help her.
She still has a lot of her seashell paraphernalia. The last time I saw them, my mom was still making things out of seashells. Now it’s more of a simple hobby for her. It’s kind of sweet that she never lost her love for them. Of course, that’s all I know about it now since I don’t talk to them anymore.
I used to have a mirror that she had decorated with seashells. And there was a tissue box cover that I had from her shop. It was all done in orange shells, my favorite color. But I don’t have anything left that she made. I’m actually not upset about that.
I can’t remember what made me think of this. But, there it is. My parents’ seashell business, Cindy’s Seashells. That I hated, but oddly remember very vividly.
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