An interview with Captain Shepherd

 

Interstellar Entrepreneur

annual small business issue

            This month we caught up with passenger ship captain Danae Thompson Shepherd at the Mars Station spaceport and were able to interview her about the pitfalls and rewards of interstellar small businesses. Shepherd’s ship, the Ishmael, named for her late father who started the business back in the early days of Mars Station, shuttles passengers between planets.

            Martian native Danae Shepherd appears much younger than thirty-seven with her pale, youthful face scattered with freckles, short, tousled brown curls just beginning to show a few strands of gray, and a piercing, blue-eyed, no-nonsense stare that commands instant respect. The crushing handshake she offered was evidence of real strength beneath her petite, one and a half meter frame. Shepherd is a graduate of Mars Station Port District High School and Mars Flight Academy. She joined the business with her father at the tender age of seventeen, and except for two years at the flight academy, she’s always been at home aboard the Ishmael.  

IE: Tell us how you came to take over your father’s business.

DS: Well, I didn’t have a choice. Dad was murdered when I was twenty-nine, and the Ishmael became my ship whether I was ready or not.

IE: Murdered? We thought he committed suicide.

DS: That’s what’s in the ISP report, but he was definitely murdered.

IE: But –

DS: Someone poisoned him. Next question?

IE: Was it difficult to assume responsibility for an established business?

DS: Once I dealt with the legal headaches and the grief, of course, it was relatively straightforward. My husband Alex was a genius at recruiting passengers and keeping the finances in order. I couldn’t have done it without his support.

IE: We heard that your husband recently succumbed to Zenethian flu. We’re sorry for your loss.

DS: Thank you, but he wasn’t the only crewmember I lost to the disease. I think these last few days of hiring new crew have been the most difficult hurdle in running the business.

IE: Again, we’re sorry for your loss. So tell us about your ship. Why would someone want to hire the Ishmael?

DS: The Class IV McConnell Velocity engines would probably be the biggest draw. We can do Mars Station to any port on Earth in just under 70 hours. But the comfortable passenger cabins and four lounges – two on each wing – plus our state-of-the-art infirmary and gourmet galley are what bring people back for repeat journeys. It’s a comfortable ship with a little more elbow room than the big transports. I’ve always thought of the Ishmael as a four-star hotel in space.

IE: We’ve heard the Class V McConnell engines are faster.

DS: If you don’t mind paying a couple hundred thousand extra credits to shave a few hours off your trip, please feel free to hire one of the newer ships.

IE: With so many passenger transports available, how can a new traveler feel assured that a captain is competent?

DS: A good captain can do every job on the ship, from helm to navigation to basic engine repair. About the only thing I don’t do is cook, but that’s why I hire a chef. Another way you can tell the captain is competent is by observing the crew. If they respect him or her and there’s a real sense of teamwork among them, you’ll know you’ve chartered the right ship.

IE: Any other information you’d care to share with our readers, Captain Shepherd?

DS: Yes, the Ishmael has an A+ safety record with Mars Station spaceport registry. We dock here at least once a month, and we’re always willing to travel to any station in the Milky Way. Just look for our ads in the Martian Chronicles. The ship can accommodate up to one hundred passengers, and we’re well-equipped to offer comfortable passage for all ages, from infants to the elderly. We have several family suites available, and I think you’ll find our fares to be the most reasonable of all the small passenger ships.

IE: Thank you for taking time to talk to us today, Captain.

DS: Thank you, and happy star trails.

           

Less is More

After a visit with my mother-in-law – disclaimer: a lovely person, generous, kind, and I love her dearly – but after any visit, I always have the urge to declutter my house. My MIL saves EVERYTHING, every gift she’s ever been given. This is sort of endearing. But for me it’s claustrophobic when I see all of these gifts on display. I just want to tell her, “It’s okay to fill a box with knick-knacks and take it to Goodwill. You have my permission to get rid of those candles I gave you fifteen Christmases ago. You know, the ones that used to be purple. And fragrant. And now they’re a sickly pink, never been burned, and smell like nothing. Please toss them. It’s okay. You won’t hurt my feelings, I promise.”

“And I think I speak for at least one-hundred other people who have gifted you with a knick-knack over the past sixty years. We give you permission to pare down the collection. Please.”

This Thanksgiving, we spent the holiday with my husband’s mother. In her tiny two-bedroom condo. She prepared a feast for nineteen in her spacious kitchen with no counter space due to the above mentioned knick-knacks. “Really, Mom, it’s okay to weed your cookbook collection. You don’t need a separate bookcase in the kitchen just for cookbooks.”

My two sisters-in-law and I spent over an hour washing pots, pans, serving dishes, real silverware (can’t put the knives in the dishwasher), crystal water glasses, crystal wine glasses, and all the specialized silver serving ware that lovingly cradles the serving dishes. Whoever dried had to immediately figure out where to put each item away because there was no counter space. Our MIL loves dishes. She has probably six sets of china (talking about twelve place settings each) and dozens of tea sets, yet she admits that she loves to go to HomeGoods and buy – you guessed it – dishes. Her china cabinet is so full that I’m waiting for the shelves to collapse. “It’s okay to give away the dusty ones you don’t use, Mom. Really. It’s okay.”

My youngest daughter is allergic to my MIL’s new cat. I asked Mom if she had any sinus medicine. She said, “Sure,” and looked through her medicine cabinet. Five boxes of very expired medicine (twenty year-old Benedryl) found their way into the trash before she found something recent that my daughter could take. A glance under Mom’s sink revealed at least twenty more boxes of assorted medicines. I once asked her (trying to sound helpful) if she would like me to organize under her sinks. She assured me she had done it recently. I glanced at the twenty half-empty bottles of assorted lotions – several I remember from her last house, fifteen years ago – and said, “If you say so.”

Clutter is in the eye of the beholder. Clearly my sweet MIL doesn’t mind or notice that she has an awful lot of stuff in her little condo. She loves her dishes, books, jewelry -- her stuff, a lifetime of collecting things. I grew up with clutter, dust, and unfinished home improvement projects. Too much stuff in too small of a space bothers me. I feel claustrophobic in her condo. Or in my own mother’s house. I’ve finally realized there’s a connection between the age of a person and the amount of stuff they own. If the person is married, double that amount. Kind of a scary thought.

My mother says she’s “downsizing.” This means she keeps trying to give away her knick-knacks (I keep saying, “No thanks”) but then she can’t resist an antiques store and comes home with a new painting – she loves art. Clearly she doesn’t understand the concept of downsizing.

Knick-knacks are an unavoidable part of adulthood. Own your own home? Get married? Have kids? Travel much? Guess what – you start to collect knick-knacks. And if you lose a family member, you’ll inherit their knick-knacks. If people know you collect something, especially if it’s décor-related, your collection will grow exponentially. My husband is sentimental about ‘things’ – yes, there is a packrat gene – and rarely throws things away. He doesn’t like to replace things, even when they’re threadbare or broken, well past their ‘use by’ date like the pharmacy in his mother’s bathroom. If an item was a gift, inherited, or crafted by our kids, we must keep it. I admit that I regularly purge things I don’t think he’ll miss because too much stuff gives me anxiety. If we don’t use it, don’t need it, or don’t even know what it is, why should it continue to take up valuable space in our home?

I read an article recently that the stress level of a woman, whether homemaker or employed outside the home, is directly related to the number of things inside the home. The more things women have to take care of, the more anxiety they feel. The woman who wrote the article had decided to purge her kids’ playroom, which was always a mess. Her children didn’t even spend time in the room, even when she attempted to organize their toys in containers (yes, we’ve all tried that). So she pared it down to just a few select toys. Result: the kids loved it. They played in their playroom. Imagine that. And her stress level went down. Imagine that.

I’m not saying we should all go for the Spartan look. Minimalist-Zen sort of décor makes a home feel like a museum, in my opinion. But there is such a thing as too much. I like to think that I’m trying to find a happy medium. I gave away my basket collection when I started collecting pottery. I framed one or two things each of my kids painted and, over time, gradually tossed the rest of their artwork. Especially my oldest daughter’s preschool art that involved tons of glitter. I box up sentimental knick-knacks because they don’t all need to be on display. I rotate them. Ditto for the books. (Hey, I’m an author, I can’t help the book fetish.) I donate clothes as soon as the kids outgrow them. There is no real need to save everything. On the contrary, if we hold on to too much, be it possessions or emotional baggage, we become weighed down. Less is more. Less is freeing.

Love you, Mom. If you’re reading this, you’re fine just the way you are. But it you ever get the urge to clear off your kitchen counters, I’d be happy to help.