If You Want A Job Done Right

On days that I am particularly stressed, I would drive myself up to our family cabin, overlooking the lake. So many memories, so many plans made there. It’s easy to let it all drain away, sitting, watching, as the sun goes up and down over the water. Like a picture I made up in my mind.

It’s been years since I w as back here.

Everything still looks the same, pretty quiet now…with everyone gone.

My work makes me a little edgy sometimes. I design “specialty clothing.”

It may not sound incredibly stressful to you; get an order, make it, fill it, and sell it.

But there is so much more to it than that. so much more.

Some people like the name brands, fancy labels, they are happy wearing whatever the latest movie star is selling.

But there are still some that want a one-of-a-kind original, that thing that no one else has.

And I make a killing at it.

That’s what I do. I Create and design what no one else has.

I've traveled the world gathering rare, beautiful items and bringing them back to the shop, putting together these fabulous, breathtaking creations. Showstopping items to get my "skin in the game", as it were.

It’s a tough industry, clothing, and finding the right material is key. Sometimes, when an item is hard to find, you have to be willing to improvise a little, to get the job done and make the customer happy.

(Im provise: created and performed spontaneously or without preparation; impromptu)

I come from a long line of “skin sewers.”

My family originated from Kodiak Island, Alaska, and were known for their quality parkas, hats, boots, and capes. Most materials were hunted, skinned, cleaned, and prepped to make the clothing. Caribou, seal, fox, leather, beaver, polar bear, moose, wolf... you name it, I hunted it.

And if they were hard to come by, sometimes I improvised.

My eye, my special take on things is where I first made a name for myself.

Sewing is a lot of work, hunting was the easy part, I loved the hunting part. The chase the challenge, the struggle. I became so efficient at it, that my father made it my sole responsibility. It was my job to be sure we didn’t run out of skins.

We never did.

We had all kinds of tools to work the material and skins. My father used a skinning or caping knife. He said they didn’t dull as quickly and were easy to maneuver. I could never quite get the hang of them.

I cut myself badly once. Father said, I needed to pay better attention, he was right. I began to make the process my own.

I preferred to use the Fiskars scissors from my mother’s sewing kit.

She had them for years, and no matter what she used them for, they were always sharp. I kept a pair of them lying around everywhere.

I even made a special carrying case, so I would always have a pair of Fiskars on me.

Having hand grips, made all the difference for me. It made it easier to use one-handed, as skin sometimes has a way of moving and twisting under your weight. I even altered a pair or two, to be more specifically unique to my hands

People came from all over to get skins worked on by my father, he was a celebrity of sorts. Skinning and trades like it, are a dying art.

Things in Alaska started feeling confining to me, I needed to getaway. I was beginning to feel caged, like I was the one being hunted. So, I packed my belongings in my van, said my goodbyes, and was gone.

I disappeared like a fugitive.

I still keep in touch with my family, we are always close. I keep a part of them with me, makes me feel at home. When I am feeling particularly homesick, I will wear the “old suit” my father used to wear, mother loved him in it.

Growing more anxious and adventuresome I decided to take my familiy's trade on the road and try it on somewhere in the lower 48. I settled in the southern states, floating back and forth between Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi. I kept small apartments and rented vacant buildings to create my new line.

There were a lot of great places to hunt.

The nightlife made for a big change of pace from my experiences in Alaska. It excited me, the lights, the smells, the people. I liked the nightlife.

That is a different kind of hunt.

I even began doing most of my hunting at night, somehow it was more thrilling for me. I went nearly every night.

People intrigue me, women mostly.

The incessant need they have to be made up all the time. Covering their beautiful skin with make-up and perfume. I don’t understand it. The skin has so many natural oils and scents of its own, it’s almost sinful to cover it up like they do. It should be on display, like a majestic painting or beautiful chair. Most don’t quite get my style. However, some die for it.

I've always been comfortable in my skin, content with who I am, how I appear. Sometimes, the pressure feels heavy, like a second skin, and I need to take measures to shed it. Hunting and creating do that for me.

When things get slow, with the clothing line, I refurbish and build items with scraps parts I have lying around. Using my mother's Fiskars to cut material for furniture, window dressings even my own clothes. I have a bit of an eclectic taste, I consider myself an artist of sorts. I have completely redone my apartments with the things I have collected and created.

My father always said, waste not want not, and so, I use every little bit.

I've had to move around a lot, not everyone appreciates what it takes to do what I do, or the methods in which I choose to do them.

Believe me though, it’s necessary, and well worth the hassle of a few. Usually, it doesn’t take long for them to understand my passion and they come to live with me, in peace.

I needed to replace the Fiskars that I carry in my pouch, being in a hurry at the end of one of my hunting trips, I misplaced them.

I rarely go to the store, most items I need, I hunt for.

On those occasions, I like to shop at the Echo Bargain Store, where I have become friendly with a clerk that works there. Her name was Valerie. She got my attention, right away.

She was a beautiful girl.

Everything about her was beautiful, her hair, her mouth, she smelled familiar, like wildflowers and berries.

Somehow, she made me feel.

I usually stay to myself, get in, get out. But today when I saw her, I thought, I would like to have her for dinner.

As I approached her register and smiled and invited her to my apartment. I have to admit, I was a bit taken aback when she declined. I paid for the new Fiskars and made my way out to my van. She smiled at me as I left the building, watching me as I left.

I didn't leave though.

For the first time since I arrived, I felt a human connection. I knew deep down Valerie would be the one girl who would appreciate what I could offer a woman. She was just being shy, I knew she wanted to join me, you know, deep down.

I waited for her to go to her car after work. She seemed a little startled and nervous when she saw me walking up from behind her car. It didn't take long before I had her in my van, and on the way to my shop, where I could show her all the items, I had made for her.

The other women I knew didn't have her style, her good taste. I knew Valerie, I knew she would die to have them.

When I got her back to the shop, I asked to take a seat in my mother's chair. She seemed anxious, so, being considerate, I offered her a drink.

I was beyond excited to give her the gifts I had made.

While she enjoyed her beverage, I went into the other room to collect her gifts. She isn't the kind to expect a man to give her such extravagant gifts, so I ignored her hesitancy.

They were my mother's, I said. She gasped with awe and excitement as I presented them to her. The surprise on her face filled me with anticipation of what the night would bring.

The last thing I remember was hearing Valerie scream. Then, everything went dark.

When I woke, I noticed the pouch that held my Fiskars, was on the floor in front of me, but my scissors were gone. I was on my knees, and I noticed a bit of blood running down my forehead. My ears were humming, and my eyes were a little blurry. I could hear the voice of another man in the room, I heard him talking to Valerie. She was thanking the man and hugging him.

I felt a rage inside my chest, why did she invite some other man here, when she was to be here with me. I had offered her gifts that belonged to my family. I was in my father's favorite suit. How could she?

I began to get up when I found my scissors. Somehow, they had been stuck into the middle of my chest. I stumbled back onto the chair, completely stunned and losing a lot of blood.

I tried to make my way to my sewing table, to fix the wound, but I am stopped, by a sharp, hot stinging pain in my back.

I've been shot!

As I lay on the floor, gasping for air, looking at the ceiling. Valerie and the unknown man are standing together, looking down at me.

He says, "Ma'am, you were a very smart woman to have called us before you locked up the store and headed out to your car. You are extremely lucky to be alive.

Do you know who this is? This is the "Fiskars skinner", we have been trying to catch him for years. He escaped the Bureau of Indian Affairs Office of Justice Services in Alaska after slaughtering his entire family".

She looked at me sobbing, and asked, "why, why would you do this to me?" Before I could answer, the officer said, "my god, is that human skin he is wearing?"

I answered breathlessly, "it's my father's favorite suit, I knew Valerie would love it."