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8 LOCH RIDGE DRIVE
December 2020 FEATURES 45 Worksock
Poetry by Shelby Stephenson
46 Christmas Stories
By Daniel Wallace Somewhat but mostly not true
50 Prayers of the People Words of hope at the end of a turbulent year
60 All Squared Away By Maria Johnson Barn quilts that blanket the landscape
68 The Elf Doctor
By Cynthia Adams Dr. Kimberlee D. Shaw prescribes a little comic relief to cure the pandemic blues
72 Art in Service
By Wiley Cash Rosalia Torres-Weiner’s flowers blossom
76 Christmas on Tate
By Cynthia Adams It’s cozy, over the top and perfectly holly jolly
84 Almanac
By Ashley Wahl
6 O.Henry
DEPARTMENTS 10 The Nature of Things
By Ashley Wahl
15 Simple Life
By Jim Dodson
20 Short Stories 21 Doodad 22 Life’s Funny
By Maria Johnson
25 The Omnivorous Reader
By D.G. Martin
28 Scuppernong Bookshelf 31 Home by Design
By Cynthia Adams
34 Weekend Away
By Jason Oliver Nixon
37 Birdwatch
By Susan Campbell
39 Wandering Billy
By Billy Eye
98 Events Calendar 112 O.Henry Ending
By David Claude Bailey
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
or. grateful f e b o t h c mu nds, ve so very ther. a h Dear Frie e w t a o ’s th ar like no e ything, it y n a a s h u g t u h us thro s taug es. If 2020 ha s clients have seen me chang o s e k a m u lo to Our fabu spend an re. pelled us o m t o t c e s g a e h w basis, ndemic anywhe y a r l p a n e e o h t w t e n , e y u e pointm utiful y of yo Like man ur clients on an ap ing at the most bea ok go By servin d hour together lo ! pte tter ecovered r e uninterru xperience even be ’v e w , ring re ge this sp r than ever. a Makes ou m a d s u do ette ed tremen View on Elm is b beautiful in a t s u s p rs in t, The r sho While ou ings look differen lebrate over 16 yea ce e th and whil for you! Happy to ere season. y a . id o l r We are h o o h b the n Greens ce during a e p d Downtow n a ling 2021. ty z u z a a e d b a h r c fo mu ticipation you find n g a in d p n o a h e titud So here’s ull of gra f e r a s t . r Our hea s hopeful y a w l a d y an hy, happ t l a e h in ma Please re gratitude d n Cheers! a e v o rmous l With eno ie nd Georg a i t r a M , Becky
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M A G A Z I N E
Volume 10, No. 12 “I have a fancy that every city has a voice.” 336.617.0090 1848 Banking Street, Greensboro, NC 27408 www.ohenrymag.com PUBLISHER
David Woronoff Andie Stuart Rose, Creative Director andie@thepilot.com Ashley Wahl, Editor awahl@ohenrymag.com Lauren M. Coffey, Associate Art Director Alyssa Rocherolle, Graphic Designer CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
Jim Dodson, Founding Editor Cynthia Adams, David Claude Bailey, Harry Blair, Maria Johnson CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS
Lynn Donovan, Amy Freeman, Sam Froelich, John Gessner, Bert VanderVeen, Mark Wagoner CONTRIBUTORS
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8 O.Henry
MAY Lose Value
OWNERS
Jack Andrews, Frank Daniels Jr., Frank Daniels III, Lee Dirks, David Woronoff © Copyright 2020. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. O.Henry Magazine is published by The Pilot LLC The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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The Nature of Things
Straight from the Heart
The great fortune and mystery of meeting Jim
By Ashley Wahl
When Jim Dodson tells the
story of how we met, I always get goosebumps.
In his version, he has just interviewed a stream of recent journalism grads for what would be his first editorial hire at PineStraw magazine, the elder sister of O.Henry, based in Southern Pines. Many asked him probing questions like, “What are your hours?” and, more frequently, “What’s the pay?” Each wielded a sizable list of his or her credentials and requirements. And then, he says, I walked through the door. Now, allow me to interject. This was 2009, eleven long years ago. I was 22 years old and knew as much about journalism as I knew about life, which is to say not much. And yet there was a burning inside of me — an inner knowing that writing was a part of my destiny, even if the path was unmarked. I had just graduated from UNCG, where having a couple of poems published in the undergraduate arts magazine, Coraddi, was the extent of my literary credentials. I was back in Southern Pines, living with my parents, befuddled, and wondering if I should go off to grad school to learn how to write. Enter PineStraw, the local arts magazine that was suddenly the hottest thing in my hometown. When I picked up my first copy, I could tell by the arresting cover
10 O.Henry
that I had stumbled upon something extraordinary. And when I read editor Jim Dodson’s column, a vision of my future began to clarify. Jim’s writing was, in a word, transcendent. Not only did it reveal his almost spiritual observance of the human experience, but it somehow celebrated all of the tender, sacred, beautiful, ordinary moments that remind us we aren’t alone, that maybe we aren’t so lost and that, perhaps, there is a larger mystery at play — a benevolent force ever guiding us along our journey. Truth be told, I wasn’t in Jim’s office to land a job. I didn’t even know PineStraw was hiring. I was there because Jim’s words moved me to the core. I wanted to write like that — straight from the heart — and I wanted to hear his story. So there I was, standing in Jim’s office, thinking I was interviewing him. When Jim tells our story, he paints me in a way that feels almost mythic: a bright-eyed young poet as green as a shoot and open as the sky. It’s all very flattering, but here’s the point: Jim recognized something in me that can’t be taught. He saw a kindred spirit, a student of life and the cosmos with an old soul and a natural connection to the language of the heart. And while he speaks as eloquently as he writes — which is to say that his storytelling is like poetry — it’s the transcendental notion behind Jim’s words that continues to strike me with the kind of awe you might feel in the presence of a devotee in prayer. He spoke of a Hand of Providence and the great fortune and mystery of our intersecting paths. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 11
The Nature of Things Although I couldn’t yet see it, I was standing in the presence of my greatest mentor, the soulful visionary who would teach me everything I know about writing simply by giving me a chance. I’d been working at PineStraw for over a year when talk of launching a magazine in Greensboro began to take shape. Jim was wild about Greensboro, often reeling into stories from his high school days at Grimsley and dreaming of some day moving back. I recall him sitting in his favorite club chair, sharing with me the inexplicable: how this magazine, like PineStraw, would come together each month. Of course, it would take great storytellers. Brilliant design. Support from local advertisers. But the element of surprise would be the golden key. When you allow space for miracles, he told me, “things usually have a way of working out far better than you could ever have imagined.” Under Jim’s guidance, I moved back to Greensboro in 2011 to help launch O.Henry, an alternative to grad school and yet just down the road from UNCG. In 2013, I relocated to Wilmington, where we launched another sister magazine, Salt. And when I approached Jim in 2016 to tell him that my heart was guiding me to Asheville, he encouraged me to follow it. “I knew this day would come,” he said, smiling. I promised him I’d write. Jim and I stayed in touch over the course of the next four years, during which I began to understand and trust the grand, mysterious unfolding of life on a deeper level. Last summer, in the midst of this global pandemic, I found myself
wondering what was next, where the unseen path might lead me from Asheville. And then I got a call from David Woronoff, O.Henry’s publisher. Jim Dodson was ready to step into semi-retirement, he told me. He’d still write his monthly column and contribute his soulful visions to the magazine, but Jim was ready to pass the editor’s torch — to me if I was ready. It was a plot twist I hadn’t seen coming, and yet, to paraphrase an old friend, sometimes life has a way of working out better than you could have imagined. I phoned Jim and told him the good news. “I knew this day would come,” he confessed from his garden in Starmount. I could almost feel his blue eyes gleaming through the phone as he talked about O.Henry, our intersecting paths and his own future — the books he wants to write and where his heart and the unseen path were leading him next. I couldn’t be happier to return to Greensboro’s beloved O.Henry, which continues to sparkle with the kinds of stories that celebrate this sacred, beautiful life and, thankfully, will still have Jim Dodson’s signature all over it. And I couldn’t be happier for Jim. Thanks for believing in me, dear friend. Thanks for sharing your soulful visions with this magazine. And on behalf of our readers, thanks for continuing to write. OH Contact editor Ashley Wahl at awahl@ohenrymag.com
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12 O.Henry
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Simple Life
Becoming My Father And, luckily, his father, too
By Jim Dodson
A dear friend I hadn’t seen in far
too long and I were having lunch outdoors, safely distanced. She sipped her lemony mineral water and noted her relief that a grueling year was finally drawing to a close.
“If ever a year could make you feel old,” she said with a thoughtful sigh, “this was it.” I agreed, sipping my sweet tea, pointing out that I am living proof of this sudden aging phenomenon. “How’s that?” I replied that I was — quite literally — turning into my father and grandfather before my very eyes. This was either scary or wonderful. The jury was still out on the matter. She laughed. “I think you were probably just born old. Besides, you’re more of an old soul than a grumpy old man.” This was nice of her to say. I hoped she’s right. In fact, I hoped this sudden aging awareness might not be the result of the year’s tumultuous events — a worldwide pandemic, collapsed economy, record hurricanes and wildfire, to say nothing of a presidential election that ground us all to a pulp — and was merely a case of finally growing old enough to appreciate the way our lives unfold and how we are shaped by the people who came before us. For the record, two years ago I officially joined the great Baby Boom horde marching resolutely toward their Medicare and Social Security benefits. Between us and my morning glass of Metamucil, however, I really don’t feel much older than I did, say, 20 or 30 years ago, when I built my own post-and-beam house on a coastal hill in Maine and spent my children’s college funds creating a large faux English garden in the
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
northern woods. In my 30s and 40s I could work hard all day in the garden — digging holes, planting shrubs, mowing the lawn, rebuilding old stone walls — and simply require a good soak in our huge Portuguese bathtub and a couple of cold Sam Adams beers to put my aging body right. As my 50s dawned, shortly before we moved home to Carolina 15 years ago, I even tagged along with renowned Raleigh plantsman Tony Avent and a trio of veteran plant hunters half my age to the Great Karoo desert and some of the most remote places of South Africa in search of exotic plants. We were gone five weeks in the bush, much of that time out of touch with folks back home, politely dodging black mambas and angry Cape baboons. I came home filthy and exhausted, bloodied and gouged, punctured and sprained in places I didn’t even know I had. In short, it was glorious — the most fun I’ve ever had researching a book — and it only took me a case of beer and a full week of soaking in the bath to fully recover. Four years ago, as senior citizen status officially loomed, my wife and I decided to downsize and move from the Sandhills to my hometown in the Piedmont, prompting a friendly debate over whether we should move to the old neighborhood where I grew up or the 10 rural acres I had my eye on outside the city. “I know exactly what you have in mind,” said my younger wife. “You want 10 acres so you can build another post-and-beam house and create an even bigger faux English garden. Problem is, 65 is not the new 25. I know you well. You’ll rarely come in the house and work yourself to death. I’ll come home some afternoon and find you face down in the Virginia creeper.” I laughed off such a silly notion, pointing out it would either be English bluebells or maybe the winter Daphne. She was not amused. We moved to my old neighborhood a short time later. Truthfully, I think about my old woodland garden in Maine and O.Henry 15
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16 O.Henry
that wild African adventure sometimes when I’m working in the modest suburban garden where I now serve as head gardener and general dogsbody, a simple quarter-acre that I’ve completely re-landscaped with or without the FedEx guy in mind. As a sign of how time may finally be catching up with my botanically abused body, however, it now takes three cold beers, a longer soak in the tub, two Advil and a short nap to get me up and moving without complaint. I suspect my days of sweet tea consumption are also dwindling in favor of mineral water with lemon. In the meantime, the evidence mounts that I am becoming my father and grandfather before my own eyes. Maybe that’s not, as I’ve already said, a bad thing, after all. My father’s father, from whom I got my middle name, was a lovely old gentleman of few words who could make anything with his hands, a gifted carpenter and electrician who worked on crews raising the first electrical towers across the South during the Great Depression and later helped wire the state’s first “skyscraper,” the Jefferson Standard Building in downtown Greensboro. Walter Dodson wore flannel shirts with large pockets and smoked cheap King Edward cigars. He gave me my first toolbox one Christmas and showed me how to cut a straight line with a handsaw that I still own. In the evenings, he loved to sit outside and watch the birds and changeable skies, sometimes humming hymns as he calmly smoked his stogie. Walter’s wife, my spunky Baptist Grandmother Taylor, knew the Gospels cold, but I don’t think Walter ever darkened the doorway of a church. Nature was his temple. His son, my old man, Brax Dodson, was an adman with a poet’s heart. He loved poetry, American history, good bourbon, golf with chums and everything about Christmas, not necessarily in that order. He sometimes smoked a beautiful briar pipe he brought home from the war and moderated a men’s Sunday school class for more than two decades. A man of great faith, he’d experienced unspeakable tragedy during his service in Europe but never spoke of it. Instead, he lived his life as if every day was a gift, always The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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18 O.Henry
focusing on the positive, the most upbeat character I ever knew. My nickname for him, in fact, was “Opti the Mystic,” owing to his unwavering goodwill and embarrassing habit of quoting long-dead sages and Roman philosophers when you least expected it, especially to my teenage dates. I never appreciated what a gift he gave me until I turned 30. Lord, how I miss that man. Regardless of where you come down on the nature v. nurture debate, one doesn’t need a deep dive into Ancestry.com to understand that each of us owns pieces of the people who came before us. If we are lucky, the best parts of them live on in us. Having reached an age where there are more years in the rearview than the road ahead, I take some comfort in suddenly noticing how much I really am like Opti and Walter, good men who lived through hard times — and even tragedy — but never lost their common touch or appreciation for life’s simple pleasures. Like Walter, I dig flannel shirts with large pockets, church hymns, quiet afternoons in my garden and sitting beneath the evening trees watching birds feed and skies change. I miss going to early church on Sunday mornings. But nature is my temple, too. For the time being, that will suffice. Like Opti, I have a thing for poetry, American history, good bourbon and golf with chums, even quotes by long-dead sages and Roman philosophers that never failed to embarrass my children when they were teenagers. Just like my old man, I love everything about Christmas. Some gray afternoon this month, I’ll even fire up one of his favorite briar pipes just for fun, a little ritual that makes me feel closer to my missing father, my kindly ghost of Christmas Past. There’s one more important way I connect with Walter and Opti, who were anything but grumpy old men. Both had wise and spirited wives who shaped their thinking and made them better people. I have a wife like that, too. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. OH Contact founding editor Jim Dodson at jwdauthor@gmail.com The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 19
Short Stories
Tradition with a Twist
Praise the dancing sugar plum fairies! Greensboro Ballet’s The Nutcracker will go on. And here’s how: the big screen. A live performance at the Carolina Theatre is being professionally recorded for a Nutcracker Drive-in experience at the Greensboro Coliseum (1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro) on Friday, December 18, through Sunday, December 20. In this year’s production, dancers will don masks to match their tights and tutus, and choreography will delight with not-so-subtle nods to COVID-era precautions — maids distributing hand-sanitizer at the Party scene, for instance. Watch the Nutcracker and Mouse King go face to snout from the safety and comfort of your own vehicle and, per usual, prepare to be dazzled. Drive-ins include food drives during each of the five productions to help local organizations feed the hungry this holiday season. Tickets: $60 per vehicle. Info: greensboroballet.org/the-nutcracker
*Given the unusual circumstances currently facing all events and their organizations, anyone planning to attend any program, gathering or competition should check in advance to make certain it will happen as scheduled.
Worldly Palate
In June, 2019, O.Henry featured a story on Greensboro native Cameron Klass, millennial chef and holistic health coach, who is on a global “quest for zest.” As her T-shirt suggests, her mission to “Spread Hummus Not Hate” is her life’s work and joy. Having launched Root to Rise to share her wisdom of the “healing power of natural foods,” Klass recently published the first cookbook of her “Around the World” recipe series, Quest for Zest: Thailand. Featuring over 50 simple and authentic Thai recipes with what Klass calls her “healthy, creative, plant-based, gluten-free spin,” the book utterly sizzles with new possibilities. Illustrated with vibrant photographs, recipes include wholesome variations on classic street foods; green, red and yellow curries; pad Thai and other rice noodle dishes; plus sweet and creamy desserts Klass discovered through her travels. “My mission is to serve culinary confidence so that everyone and anyone feels that they can cook!” she says, adding that it’s a book for body, mind and spirit. Standard edition: $15; Star edition: $25. Info: roottorise.online/shop
Sag Season: Baptism By Fire
Have you ever met a Sagittarius who wasn’t a complete and total hot mess — at least 90 percent of the time? Think about it. And now conjure, if you can, the image of Miley Cyrus from her Wrecking Ball days. Red-hot lipstick, platinum blond undercut and nothing on save for a pair of Dr. Martens 1490 boots. That’s a Sag for you. And wouldn’t you know it: Cyrus’ brand new album, Plastic Hearts, features a track named for her birth sign. The lyrics are more plebeian than poetic. But, let’s face it, Sagittarians aren’t exactly the Emily Posts of the zodiac. Their symbol is a bow-wielding centaur, as in half archer, half horse. The force is strong with you, star child, and with two eclipses in the forecast this month, that willpower just might save your sweet bippy. Prepare for turbulence, kiddo. The solar eclipse on December 14 will trigger a minor existential crisis — nothing a little palo santo (that’s “holy wood,” darling, not “Hollywood”) can’t clear up. And on December 30, a lunar eclipse is going to stir up the pot with your romantic partner. (If you’re single, that means good luck getting along with yourself.) But there’s good news: If you’re willing to put in the inner work, these shifts in the cosmos are going to help steer you toward a life with some semblance of balance. Happy birthday, you rebellious little fire sign. Breathe through it. And try not to get too bored.
20 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Doodad
Nikki Blair Lemonhead, 2019, ceramic 19 x 6 x 4 inches
State of the Arts
GreenHill’s annual WINTER SHOW is more visible than ever
“T
here is the verbal, which separates people . . . and there is the visual, that is understood by everybody.” So says Israeli sculptor Yaacov Agam. In other words, art unifies us. And during these challenging times, our collective need for unity . . . for beauty . . . and for meaning crescendos. What’s more, artists long to share what they’ve created to salve our weary souls. “At a time of historic uncertainty, enhancing visibility and economic opportunities for the state’s creative community is more vital than ever,” says GreenHill Center for North Carolina Art’s Executive Director Barbara Richter, anticipating the museum’s 41st annual WINTER SHOW. The public opening is on Sunday, December 6, from 1–6 p.m., bringing socially-distanced visitors together safely for an exhibition featuring 400 works by emerging and established artists from across the state, including over one dozen from the Gate City and our surrounding towns. Expect the whole, colorful gamut: paintings,
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
sculpture, photography, ceramics, jewelry, wood and fiber works — all available for sale (and tax-free on opening day). Exhibit runs until Sunday, February 7, 2021. In addition to extending the WINTER SHOW by three full weeks this year, a comprehensive digital catalog (accessible on December 1) now offers optimal viewing opportunities for those who prefer to shop online. Small-group and in-person collector evenings are also available. GreenHill gallery is open Thursday through Saturday, from noon until 5 p.m. Extra holiday shopping days include Wednesdays, December 9, 16 and 23, same hours. And for those with a 9-to-5, extended hours on Thursday, December 17, will keep the doors open until 7 p.m. Let’s come together, in the name of art. WINTER SHOW is free and open to the public. Visit GreenHillNC.org for updates and details on safety protocols. O.Henry 21
Life's Funny
Walking the Talk And seeing the gifts of being human
By Maria Johnson
I arrive at the trailhead with a cardboard
box full of dirt-crusted iris bulbs, leftovers from a gardening operation best described as dig, divide and conquer by giving. My friend has asked for some of the remainders, which I promised to bring the next time we walked.
She totes a gift, too, a surprise — a first edition copy of Where Trouble Sleeps, a short novel by one of my favorite authors, North Carolina’s own Clyde Edgerton. She salvaged the book from a Salvation Army that she regularly scans for vintage finds. We swap treasures in the parking lot, leash our dogs and set off on a long trek through the woods, a practice we repeat a couple of times a month, if not weekly. I’m betting that each of us is a little nervous this time. I know I am. The results of the general election are pending, and we’re on opposite sides of the fence, politically speaking, which basically means we’re not speaking politically. It wasn’t always this way. Eight years ago, when we met, we agreed on much more, or so it seemed. But in the last four years, the subject of politics, especially presidential politics and its spinoffs, has become increasingly flammable, with each of us quick to defend our beliefs and each of us — I’m quite sure — shaking our heads and asking ourselves about the other: “How could someone so smart, compassionate and patriotic think that?” But we’ve kept walking. And talking.
22 O.Henry
And laughing. About sons, and husbands, and dogs, and movies, and dialogue we’d witnessed or overheard or imagined. Sometimes, a giggle couldn’t wait a week. Before Halloween, she texted a flight of imagination: “OK, hear me out . . . Haunted house but with adult nightmares.” In one room, actors frolic on vacation until they get a call saying the water pipes in their house have burst. It’s a weekend. A holiday weekend. No plumbers can be located. Blood-curdling screams pierce the air. In another room, a flannel-clad innocent in a cozy bed wakes to realize he has slept through an important meeting. He throws off the covers and flails in panic, a sure goner. In another room, the help desk from hell, the unwitting victim sits at a computer, reading an avalanche of emails saying the customer service department is awaiting her reply — which she keeps sending. “Instead of ghouls jumping out at you, it’s bureaucrats and middle-managers yelling and laughing,” my friend wrote by way of stage direction. I added a chilling scene: An unsuspecting shopper stands in a check-out line that’s inching forward. She moves to a faster-moving line only to have the cashier in that line call for a price check. Meanwhile, the person who was in front of her in the first line skips out the door while the manager announces over the loudspeaker, “Will the driver of a white Prius (her car) please come to the customer service desk.” “NOOOOO!,” my friend texted. Each of us knew the other was laughing out loud. I supposed that was — and is — the tie that binds: amusement at fate and foibles, the flaws and fears that all of us share, a recognition of The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Life's Funny
how loveably ridiculous humans are. That includes . . . drumroll . . . us. Half the doozies we tell are on ourselves. OK. Maybe a third of the tales. All right. A quarter. Take it or leave it. So there’s that. And there’s cussing. We love to cuss. Add a dash of the sublime and splash of the serious. The wildflowers we discover on our walks. The tears we’ve shared at touching stories. The curiosity piqued by things we’ve read. And yes, the bleep-ing politics. “I’ll be glad when this election is over,” she ventures halfway through the walk. “Me, too,” I say. We sidestep for a moment to rail about repair people who’ve left jobs unfinished at our houses, each waiting on a part that never seems to arrive. “I guess it’s made of unobtainium,” my friend says. Unobtainium? How can you not love someone who uses a word like that? The conversation skips and skitters. The trail falls, rises, curves, straightens. We land on the topic of negotiating. I stick my neck out: My candidate is a good negotiator, I say. A good negotiator who happens to be wrong, she says. At least he admits when he’s wrong, I say. Here we go again. We step carefully, catching our balance with small talk about the dogs. Now, she sticks her neck out: It’s hard to understand someone else’s experience when you’re negotiating. It’s true, I say, especially if you’re playing for points, tit for tat. The only way out, we agree, is to give, trusting that you won’t be hurt in the process. No trust, no give. We’re back at the cars now. The dogs are loaded up. Thanks for the bulbs, she says. Thanks for the book, I say. Seeya next week, she says. Seeya next week, I say. OH Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry. She can be reached at ohenrymaria@gmail.com The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Omnivorous Reader
Mountain Redux The return of Ron Rash’s classic character
By D.G. Martin
What is it about Waynes-
ville, the small mountain city west of Asheville?
Two of our state’s most admired novelists set their best books in the mountains near Waynesville: Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier, and Serena, by Ron Rash. Both books are gems with memorable characters and descriptive language that flows like poetry. Both deal with cruel and brutal destruction of life and land: Cold Mountain by war, Serena by the clear-cutting of ancient mountain forests. Having written about Frazier recently, it is time to give attention to the work of Rash. His latest book, In the Valley, gives us nine new short stories and a novella that revives the main story in the classic Serena. From its beginning, North Carolina has been the scene of environmental destruction that accompanied the creation of great wealth and employment opportunities. The importance of tars and pitch to our economy gave us our Tar Heel nickname and destroyed vast forests of longleaf pine. In the early part of the last century, our mountain regions opened their treasured forests to massive clear-cut operations that destroyed some of the state’s most beautiful and important natural landscapes. Serena was set in the time of the Great Depression in the immense forests near Waynesville. The leading characters were the owners of a Boston lumber company that was systematically cutting all the trees on the thousands of acres that it owned. The background of systematic forest destruction was a perfect backdrop for Rash’s epic story of love, hate, ambition, ruthlessness and revenge. His novel opens at the railroad station in Waynesville. Pemberton, the leading partner in the lumber company, returns from Boston with his new bride, Serena. Her striking appearance and arrogance immediately awe Pemberton’s partners and most of the employees, who have come to meet the couple at the station. Also at the station are a rumpled mountain man and his pregnant teenage daughter, Rachel, whose unborn child was fathered by Pemberton. The mountain man accosts Pemberton with a Bowie knife. In the ensuing fight, Pemberton sinks his own knife into the chest of the mountain man, who drops his Bowie knife and dies. Serena, showing the dominating character that will carry the novel to its end, picks up the Bowie knife, hands it to the dead man’s daugh-
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ter and says, “By all rights it belongs to my husband. It’s a fine knife, and you can get a good price for it if you demand one. And I would,” she added. “Sell it, I mean. That money will help when the child is born. It’s all you’ll ever get from my husband and me.” Serena was ambitious and dramatically attractive, riding a white horse and displaying her well-trained eagle. She and her husband were determined to get rich by clear-cutting thousands of acres of North Carolina mountain forestlands, destroying a rich, stable and precious environment. Rash made Serena a symbol of corporate greed and anti-environmentalism. Serena was also driven by personal passions. She was determined to eliminate her husband’s illegitimate son and the child’s mother, Rachel. This assignment went to Galloway, a one-armed employee utterly devoted to Serena. Galloway’s efforts, chronicled in the book’s dramatic last pages, were nevertheless a failure. The boy and mother were safe, and Serena was off to exploit the forests of Brazil. Maybe it’s a stretch to compare Rash with Shakespeare, as some critics have, but his vivid writing takes the reader by the hand and makes him a participant in the action, not just an observer. And Serena established Rash as one of America’s leading authors. A novella that is part of Rash’s new book, In the Valley, brings Serena back from Brazil to North Carolina to take charge of a logging project. Galloway also returns to take on Serena’s murderous assignments, including the search for Rachel and her son. Readers will again be impressed and horrified at Serena’s determined and brutal efforts that destroy more of the environment and decimate the logging crews. Rash’s writing is firmly connected to his concerns about threats to the preservation of the environment. In an interview with Mountain Times Publications’ executive editor Tom Mayer, Rash explained, “I’m seeing now this peril for the national parks. There’s a lot of push to change what is considered wilderness that can be mined or timbered. My hope is that this (story) would remind us how hard won these national parks were and what they were fighting against.” The new book is a bonus for fans of Rash’s short fiction. There are nine finely tuned short stories. All deal with mountain people like those he knows from growing up in or near the mountains, or from his long years teaching at Western Carolina University. These are folks that Rash clearly cares for and worries about. But the time settings vary, giving readers a look at mountain life over hundreds of years. The opening story, “Neighbors,” is set during the Civil War in the O.Henry 25
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mountain community of Shelton Laurel. A Confederate foraging and raiding party targets the farm of a young widow and her two children. The Confederates assume she is a Union sympathizer and prepare to burn her house and barn. Rash captures the meanness and ugliness of war and punctuates his point with an ending that surprises the reader and darkens the tale. “When All the Stars Fall” deals with a poignant breakup of a father and son’s construction business because their value systems are different and incompatible. In “Sad Man in the Sky,” a helicopter pilot who sells 30-minute rides takes on a troubled but inspiring passenger. In “L’Homme Blesse,” a mountain college art professor explores the connection between the artwork of a Normandy invasion veteran and the images on the walls of ancient caves in France. “The Baptism” is the story of a country minister responding to a worthless wife abuser who wants to be baptized. The story has an unexpected and satisfying ending. A young female probationary park ranger in “Flight” encounters a bully who blatantly fishes without a license and breaks all the park’s rules. Her daring retort is illegal but satisfying. A struggling late-night storekeeper in “Last Bridge Burned” helps a troubled woman who stumbles into his store. Years later he reaps an interesting reward when he connects with the same woman, who has been transformed. In “Ransom,” a wealthy college student survives a lengthy kidnapping only to face more challenges resulting from the warm relationship she developed with her kidnapper. Set 60 years after the Battle of Chickamauga, “The Belt” tells how a belt and its buckle that saved a Confederate soldier’s life during that battle has now saved the life of his great-grandson. Rash’s fans will appreciate this short volume of some of his best writing. For those unfamiliar with his work, In the Valley would be a great beginning place. OH D.G. Martin hosts North Carolina Bookwatch Sunday at 3:30 p.m. and Tuesday at 5 p.m. on UNC-TV. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 27
Scuppernong Bookshelf
In Case You Missed Them Titles worthy of the party they didn’t get
Compiled by Brian L ampkin
It was a difficult year for writers who published a book in 2020.
Actually, it was a difficult year for anyone who drew a breath in 2020, but we’re here to focus on books. Typically, a writer publishes a book, then celebrates with a launch party, book tour and a variety of live appearances. None of the post-publication afterglow happened in our plague year. Still, plenty of great books saw the light and many of them by North Carolina authors. As this grievous year comes to an end, let’s give some renewed appreciation for these 2020 titles either from Tar Heel denizens or those inspired by North Carolina events. Wilmington’s Lie, by David Zucchino. Happily, this one published before the curtain was drawn on events, and Zucchino drew a sell-out crowd to Scuppernong in January for this important look at the 1898 overthrow of the Wilmington, N.C., government. Zucchino argues that the racist events in Wilmington set the stage for North Carolina’s descent into 20th Century Jim Crow life. Write It!: 100 Poetry Prompts to Inspire, by Jessica Jacobs and Nickole Brown. If, poet, you were always suspicious of the efficacy of prompts as a poetic practice, then you need to prop open this sophisticated and deeply knowledgeable collection of ideas and inspirations. There’s nothing cute or precious about these hard-thought and useful mind and heart starters. Jacobs
28 O.Henry
and Brown bring an Asheville focus on nature and openness to the page. The Tyranny of Questions, by Michael Gaspeny. This unique collection of poems is novelistic in its narrative and close attention to a single subject — a woman struggling through repressive American life in the 1960s. That makes it a brave text in these times, which are so anti-empathetic. If this is appropriation, then give me more, as Gaspeny offers tender, wise and heartfelt appreciation for the difficulties, hard-earned joys and everpresent despair of a life thwarted. Even As We Breathe, by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle. Clapsaddle lives in Qualla, N.C., and is an enrolled member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians. No less than Charles Frazier says of her novel: “Even As We Breathe is a fresh, welcome and much needed addition to the fiction of the Appalachian South and its neglected people and places. Clapsaddle creates characters with sensitivity, subtlety, humor and warmth. A splendid debut by a writer well worth following.” Step It Up and Go, by David Menconi. Long-time Raleigh News & Observer music critic David Menconi offers a detailed overview of the long history of great music made in North Carolina. The work is beautifully presented by UNC Press, and includes The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Scuppernong Bookshelf everything from Doc Watson to Beach Music, from Winston-Salem’s hugely influential The “5” Royales to Greensboro’s Rhiannon Giddens. There’s a ton of information, but most of it is delivered with the real joy and passion pop music deserves. Why Didn’t We Riot?: A Black Man in Trumpland, by Issac J. Bailey. Davidson College professor Issac J. Bailey is America’s self-appointed spokesman for the millions of Black and Brown people throughout the United States who felt pushed back to the back of the bus in the Trump era by a media that prioritized the concerns and feelings of the white working class and an administration that made White supremacists giddy. Down by the Eno, Down by the Haw: A Wonder Almanac, by Thorpe Moeckel. Moeckel’s strange and meandering drift through the woods and rivers of the Piedmont is filled with language both specific and ethereal — like a good walk through nature itself. I’d give occasional whoops of wonder as Moeckel puts words and syntaxes to new uses. Prose for poets and nature lovers alike. This Will Make It Taste Good, by Vivian Howard. Kinston’s latest claim to fame brings a second cookbook to life with more direct attention paid to the mysteries of Eastern North Carolina cooking. It’s also got a generous serving of Howard’s winning personality and typical honest reflection on the difficulties and joys of a chef’s life. Highlighting these eight books means I’m ignoring all these other gems of the COVIDera: Blue Marlin, by Lee Smith; Hieroglyphics, by Jill McCorkle; Indecent Assembly, by Gene Nichol; The Best of Me, by David Sedaris; In the Valley: Stories and a Novella Based on Serena, by Ron Rash; When These Mountains Burn, by David Joy and Escaping Dreamland, by Charlie Lovett. Good luck catching up on what you’ve missed. OH
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O.Henry 29
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Home by Design
The Speed Queen Let’s hope she’s as simple as advertised
By Cynthia Adams
Cliff Ginn was in a lather about washing machines.
He owns a small textile-related business and, having weathered many storms given the tumult of the industry, has mastered self-control. But today he is more agitated than, well, his dying washing machine’s agitator. I listen sympathetically while handing over the UPS package I’d accepted for him while he was out at appliance stores. “I want a dumb washing machine,” he states flatly. “I want the Volkswagen Beetle of washing machines!” A Dapper Dan, Ginn could care less about washing machine style or function. “Why should it care if my cotton is from Egypt or from Mississippi? Or, if my cashmere sweater is virgin or not? I do not judge.” A de-wrinkling feature perhaps? No thanks. “If I want to de-wrinkle something, I will just throw it in the drier with a wet rag.” On he went with the questions. “Must the washer and drier match?” he asks plaintively. No. Well, maybe. “I do like for my shoes and belt to match.” Ginn complains about the steep learning curve for gadgets on his 2020 Volvo sedan. He definitely isn’t looking for a washing machine that requires him watching YouTube. He was searching for the simplest machine to be found. One with an on and off button, he jokes. No fancy panels or electronic controls. Nothing that will die or confound him. He even sat down and wrote an angsty rant about it: “This is a year when I bought a new car with electronics that would make a 16-year-old-boy drool. And the prospect of having to buy a new iPhone . . . But back to the washing machine. It’s asking too much of me. Why so many choices and features.” (He was too distraught to insert question marks.) Simplicity of design was what Ginn sought. One such simplified machine still exists. It lacks the high-profile brand awareness of Maytag, Miele, LG or GE. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Its name is Speed Queen. “Speed Queen!” he exclaims days later, over the phone. He was keeping me informed of his progress and had just discovered this brand at an old-school appliance store. In a very short while, Ginn called to report back. “I am on my way to do something every grown man dreads,” he says with the resignation of the already beaten. “And it’s not a colonoscopy.” A long pause. “It’s buying a washing machine.” I knew appliance angst well. An ill-fated encounter with a smart washing machine occurred more than 20 years ago in Genoa, Italy. I travelled with my friend, Dixie Hodge, to the home of Pat and Loren Schweninger. We were to stay there while they were away. Arriving at the Genoa train station, my friend was suddenly distracted by a mob of gesticulating, chattering women who lifted her wallet. We were shaken, but gathered ourselves and trundled on with our cases. The Schweningers’ rental, on a hillside overlooking the port city, was memorably reached via funicular. I emptied all my clothing into their Italian made front-loading machine before dinner. I had no idea how to operate the machine, guessing at the foreign settings. What seemed like hours later, my clothes — all my clothes — were still washing away. Back home, my old top-loader would have been long finished. After madly pressing buttons, it chugged to a stop — with all my soggy clothes inside clearly visible through the machine’s window. The door could not be opened. I knocked at the neighbor’s door, trying to explain that the machine was broken. Did they have any knowledge of washing machines? Or at least that’s what I attempted to ask, using a pastiche of English and terrible Italian. Her reply was in English: “Call the Candy Man.” What? Turns out the machine was by Italy’s most popular brand — Candy. Candy was the first to bring front-loading machines to the Italian market. O.Henry 31
Home by Design Their website states (in a convoluted translation) that the brand has been “part of Italian industrial history since 1945, when it launched the Model 50, the first washing machine thought for the households.” The “thought for the households” is a charming touch — versus, what? Thought for use outside the home? With my travel funds depleted and my friend’s wallet gone, I counted my lire. How much was a house call going to cost? Quick answer: all the lire I had. The next morning, the Genovese Candy Man spent about two minutes looking at the machine. He pushed two buttons, the spin cycle began, and he grinned. Clean clothes. Cleaned out pockets. Now both my friend and I were cashless in Genoa. It was several years before I could be persuaded to consider a water conserving front-loader. As for Ginn? It isn’t about the cash. He is a true believer in good design in both his wardrobe and his home. He admires and collects art. Italian-made shoes. Buttery-soft leather coats. German and Italian sports cars. He and his girlfriend admire the finer things in life, and he has even written her poetry in Italian. But Ginn has technology fatigue. He does not want to study the manual to decipher sleek electronics. He wants knobs to turn and buttons, as we say in the South, “to mash.” Ginn has discovered he is a top-down kind of appliance man, one who believes — and plans to invest — in the simplest possible washing machine. One that is top-loading, with an old-fashioned clothes agitator that stops whenever you open the lid to toss in one more thing. Design simplicity at its finest. “I don’t ask to save the planet,” he wrote to me later, “only to have white boxers.” It will cost Ginn, of course. Simplicity doesn’t come cheaply. But the smart money is on the Speed Queen. OH Cynthia Adams is a contributing editor of O.Henry magazine.
32 O.Henry
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O.Henry 33
Weekend Away
Urban Wonderland The Madcap gents hightail it to bustling Greenville
By Jason Oliver Nixon
Recently, at High Point Market, John and I ran into a Greenville native and friend and, over drinks, we discussed the state of downtown HP.
“You think downtown High Point struggles,” our pal said. “Greenville was worse back in the day. Twenty years ago, you just wouldn’t go to most of downtown. And now it’s really breathtaking. The restaurants, the shopping, the river walk and access to nature . . .” Intrigued, John and I did our homework. Once the self-proclaimed textile capital of the world, Greenville, S.C., languished for decades when fabric firms moved overseas. Happily, a visionary urban revitalization master plan kicked off in the 1990s and continues to transform this once-uncut gem into the poster child for what a small-scale city downtown can become. Families love it. Foodies love it. BMW has its international manufacturing HQ here. Find Michelin’s U.S. headquarters there, too. It’s super walkable, super dog friendly. Heaps of nature make hiking and biking ideal. Expect loads of art galleries and working artist studios. Furman University. Cultural venues that range from the Children’s Museum of the
34 O.Henry
Upstate to the Shoeless Joe Jackson Museum, plus a world-class performing arts center. And a smattering of charming, newly sprucedup towns surrounding the city make for great day trips. So on a crisp late fall afternoon, John and I piled into the Subaru and set sail for the three-hour drive to this mythical city in the northwest corner of South Carolina. We left the pups behind. Home base for the weekend was The Westin Poinsett, a historic, 12-story property smack in the middle of Main Street’s hustle and bustle. The Poinsett has had a seesaw history since its 1925 opening. After decades as a glittering hostelry it eventually morphed into a retirement home. And then, in the late 1970s/early 1980s, it was abandoned and regularly vandalized. Now, in a beige-on-beige sort of way, the Poinsett sparkles anew after its late 1990s restoration. Speaking of hotel design, downtown Greenville lacks a good one-off boutique hotel: It’s all Hyatt Place and Aloft (perfect for folks with dogs), Hilton and Hampton Inn. Fortunately, a sleek AC Hotel by Marriott will soon open just down from the Poinsett, and construction of the high-style Grand Bohemian Greenville, perfectly situated at the base of Reedy River Falls, approaches completion. Checked in, John and I hightailed it for sunset cocktails at the stylish UP on the Roof bar situated, incongruously, atop the Embassy Suites downtown. We wanted a birds-eye view to kick The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Weekend Away
off the weekend festivities, and that’s just what we got. John and I sipped artisanal cocktails and took in the stunning vistas of downtown and the surrounding mountains. After drinks, we walked a few blocks to Urban Wren, a newly opened eatery tucked into an urban neighborhood blossoming with brand-new lofts next to the still-busy Norfolk Southern tracks. Think an interesting, slightly vexing menu that travels from Italy to Asia and India with a few stops in between. Pair the far-flung menu with cement floors and an edgy Brooklyn vibe that caters to a young, stylish, and, apparently, moneyed crowd. “Wow, $44 for salmon,” I blurted. John harrumphed and commented on how packed the restaurant was. Jammed, in fact. Even during a pandemic, the Greenville restaurant scene bristles with electricity. And residents are truly passionate — and vocal — about their dining-out likes and dislikes. A Greenville friend checked in, “You have to go to ASADA and Fork and Plough. And you must have cocktails at EXILE and the Swordfish [Cocktail] Club. You will love Willy Taco Feed & Seed and Bar Margaret. And lunch at Afghan restaurant Aryana is a must. Have a glass of rosé and the pickled beet and pear salad at Passerelle Bistro overlooking the falls to take in the view but be sure to get off the beaten path — there are so many amazing options further afield.” And so John and I mapped out a plan. Saturday morning kicked off with superlative pastries and lavender-scented lattes at French-owned Le Petit Croissant cafe and from there we walked Main Street to the baseball stadium and back across the Reedy River. The transformation of Falls Park on the Reedy is the crown jewel of the city’s impressive revitalization. Once all but hidden by a 1960s-era highway bridge, the stunning, mist-kissed falls are now part of a vast river walk that is populated with walkers and bikers who enjoy the numerous cafes and shops and taking in the views from the architecturally stunning pedestrian-only Liberty Bridge. We stopped at the wonderful M.Judson Booksellers next to the Poinsett, explored Mast General Store, and popped into superlative men’s store Rush Wilson Limited. The sidewalks were bustling. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
“It’s so nice to see so many people out and about,” mentioned John. “It almost feels ‘normal.’” After exploring downtown, we hopped into the car and visited the buzzy parking lot sale at The Rock House Antiques. We stopped at the Hampton Station dining and entertainment complex and considered lunch al fresco but realized we were perhaps too old for the man bun and tattoos/ax throwing/mac and cheese scene. Instead, we visited the charming Greer, a vest pocket-sized town that, like Greenville, has been lavished with much urbanplanning love. We were smitten with the blocks-long burg, explored Plunder for antiques and lunched upon crepes at Barista Alley. We drove to the nearby Hotel Domestique, a Provençal-style inn that caters especially to cyclists, and ogled the stonework and postcardperfect nature views at the 1820s-era Poinsett Bridge. We stopped in the town of Travelers Rest, an epicurean’s delight at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains just outside Greenville. So many restaurants! Driving back into town, we stopped for dinner at the James Beard-nominated working farm-cum-eatery Oak Hill Café and lapped up a terrific local cheese plate and duck confit with spaetzle. Sunday morning was languid and began with a Tuscan-inspired lunch on the balcony at Main Street’s Jianna, where a glass of montepulciano paired perfectly with spot-on people watching and a shared plate of pasta. Phone buzzing, it was our Greenville friend texting a slew of other restaurant and must-visit ideas. “You need to meet artist Joseph Bradley. Try the cheese at Blue Ridge Creamery. Brunch at Topsoil. And I think you’d like the lunch counter at the Pickwick Pharmacy.” Ah, so much to see, so little time. And so many reasons for a return visit. With that in mind, John and I turned off our phones and spent the afternoon on the river walk with a picnic blanket and a pile of books and magazines. The distant roar of the falls only added to the bliss. OH The Madcap Cottage gents, John Loecke and Jason Oliver Nixon, embrace the new reality of COVID-friendly travel — heaps of road trips. O.Henry 35
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Birdwatch
Winter Visitors
You’ll know this clever nuthatch by its color and its call
By Susan Campbell
Every few winters, an irruption of wintering finches wings its way to the Southeast. This is definitely shaping up to be one of those years. Thousands of songbirds native to the far north, such as pine siskins and purple finches, are already pouring in, looking for food all over North Carolina.
The first waves were observed in late September, signaling that there’s already a dearth of red spruce, balsam fir, Eastern hemlock and other small, oily and protein-rich native seeds across the northern tier of states. These birds will move farther and farther south in coming months. Some, such as the red-breasted nuthatch, have their breeding grounds way up in the boreal forests of Canada. Although pairs can also be found in northwestern North Carolina at altitudes of upwards of 3,000 feet year round, some nuthatches may cease their quest southward when they happen upon a well-stocked birdfeeder. If it’s your feeder, don’t be surprised if they take up residence in your yard for the duration of the season. And are they ever entertaining for the lucky hosts! The red-breasted nuthatch is closely related to our resident brownheaded and white-breasted nuthatches with which many of us are so familiar. They defend their nest cavity fiercely from other birds as well as climbing predators. They have also been documented using resin and pieces of bark around the nest entrance for protection. Such skillful tool usage is remarkable, so it’s no surprise that red-breasted nuthatches can be very successful breeders. However, if the weather is The Art & Soul of Greensboro
good and food is abundant in summer, they can easily outstrip the local mast crop by late summer. These animated little birds have a gray back, a prominent eye stripe and rusty flanks as well as a reddish breast, as their name implies. Red-breasteds are also quite vocal, calling repeatedly a distinctively nasal “yank yank” that sounds like a tiny tin horn being blown from the treetops. Both sexes will call, but unmated males are the most vocal. They give a very definite warning of their presence — even to larger birds, which they are not afraid to challenge for food. Red-breasted nuthatches spend their time crawling over the branches of pine trees looking for seeds in cones as well as insects active in the needles and outer bark. Stock your birdfeeder with sunflower seeds, which they love. With their long, wedge-shaped bills, they can readily shell and gobble down black-oil sunflower seeds or they store them in a crevice for later. These little birds also love peanuts and suet. Individuals can be quite aggressive, driving other nuthatches away with strong body language and harsh vocalizations. In the Sandhills and Piedmont, where we have such good nuthatch habitat, you can find them almost anywhere in a good winter. The best way to locate a red-breasted is to slowly walk through a pine stand and listen. They rarely resist giving themselves away. But in the absence of repeated, nasally calls, scan nearby chickadee or titmouse flocks. These northern visitors are known to frequently associate with other small-bodied seedeaters. If you spend just a little time in the woods over the coming weeks, chances are you’ll spot some of these clever winter visitors! OH Susan would love to hear from you. Send wildlife sightings and photos to susan@ncaves.com. O.Henry 37
W Wishing ishing y you ou P Peace, eace, H Health, ealth, a and nd P Prosperity rosperity iin n tthe he N New ew Y Year ear
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38 O.Henry
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Wandering Billy
Psychic on the Corner This time it wasn’t a scam. Even for a natural skeptic
By Billy Eye You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings. — Elizabeth Gilbert
For as long as I can remember (turns
out it’s been 20 years) there has been a psychic on the corner of Cornwallis and Lawndale, operating out of the brick house there or the one right behind it. You may recall that the house on the corner was to be replaced by a big-box pharmacy about a decade ago but, thankfully, zoning laws kept that from happening.
When it comes to the paranormal, I once considered myself skeptical but open-minded. That was before a certain “psychic” reading in Los Angeles caused me to define myself as more of a side-glance skeptic. More on that later. On impulse, I made an appointment for a reading conducted by The Art & Soul of Greensboro
the Irving Park psychic, Dorine. First off, it’s a no-contact experience. You enter into an anteroom built in front of one of the living room windows. Communication happens via intercom. Quite clever actually. I opted for a combination of crystal and Tarot card readings, conducted simultaneously for $60. I gave her no information other than my formal first name and remained moderately unresponsive as she made her preternatural prognostications. I’ve always believed that it wouldn’t be that difficult to appear to be a psychic by merely making general assumptions based on someone’s looks and demeanor, coupled with wildly positive imaginings about what’s to come, but Dorine was very precise with not a lot of wiggle room in her projections. Because much of the reading was deeply personal I won’t go into great detail but there was an impressive number of very specific things that she got right with few misses. Even when I thought she was wrong, upon reflection I realized she had been correct all along. For instance, Dorine remarked that I have trouble with my breathing. No, my breathing is fine. When she insisted that she sees me gasping for breath regularly, it then occurred to me that, yes, I walk at least 5 miles a day so naturally I am winded often. She told me that I have a second cat. I don’t nor do I want one. She O.Henry 39
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40 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Jewelry
Wandering Billy was insistent, there is a second cat. Come to think of it, the black-and-white kitty living across the street wanders daily over to sit atop my car and poke around my place. She mentioned that it was difficult for me to fall asleep. I said it wasn’t, forgetting that sleep is quite troublesome without some degree of self-medication; i.e., a nightcap or five. Asking if I was selling something, I answered no, but in hindsight the bulk of my income derives from selling ads on my website. I’d sold one that day. Her eerily accurate description of a close friend of mine was most stunning. Calling out past or current conditions is one thing, if nothing else it serves to validate, but we all know our past and present already. What does the future hold? Apparently I’ll be ghosting some of you bums out there in favor of a whole new, cooler set of friends next year. About time! And if you’re a medical professional in his 50s driving a Porsche with a condo in Florida . . . “Calling Dr. Bombay!” Dorine asked what my questions were. It actually hadn’t occurred to me to have any specific queries. I was more interested in the process itself. The advice she had for me going forward was positively rocksolid. Again, I went in a skeptic but with a willingness to believe. This was a much more substantive experience than the one and only other time I’ve had a psychic reading. Living in L.A., roaming around the Burbank mall (don’t judge, they had an Orange Julius), I was approached by a diminutive woman in her 50s, preschooler in tow. She asked if I would like to donate to needy Native Americans. I said sure, handed her a ten spot. Then I asked exactly which charity I would be supporting. As it turned out, my contribution went directly into her personal account. She and her child were, in fact, Native Americans. Okaaaay. Yet, despite having been deceived (kinda sorta), she informed me that she lived right around the corner and asked if I would like a psychic reading for $200. “What can I get for 20 bucks?” I asked. I don’t remember anything about the reading itself, but for some unknown reason I The Art & Soul of Greensboro
with
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O.Henry 41
Being said about
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42 O.Henry
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Wandering Billy gave her my business card. A few days later, the cunning clairvoyant called with distressing news: The reason I was so unfulfilled was because I had been cursed by someone close to me. I didn’t believe anyone I knew at the time cared that much about me one way or another to go to the trouble of conjuring up a curse, but I listened. The psy-charlatan was adamant in her prophesy, instructing me to take $5,000 in large bills, place them in a new white handkerchief, tie it off, then bring it to her to burn. The curse would then be lifted. Of course I did exactly as I was told and lived happily ever after. Nawwwww, even my naive younger self had heard about that one, the old switcheroo, a scam as old as humanity itself. She reached out once again with some scam or another before I asked the receptionist not to put her through again. Eye would recommend visiting Dorine’s inner sanctum at Lawndale and Cornwallis if you’re psy-curious. The entire experience was an enriching one. A second-generation psychic taught by her grandmother, Dorine obviously possesses uncanny empathic insight. She’s been at that location for two decades, which counts for something. Even if you believe there is no such thing as genuine clairvoyance, it’s still fascinating to have someone unfamiliar “read” you. At the very least, it provides a clue as to what sort of first impression you’re giving off. As for the future, I apparently need to align my core and heart chakras. Dorine gifted me with two stones to do just that. Soon as I Google what chakra means, I’ll get right on it.
*** Hope everyone has a great holiday
season even though it will be a bit different this year. But look on the bright side: No buying presents for that relative you don’t like but traditionally spend a portion of Christmas Day with anyway. OH Billy Eye is done with 2020. Begone bad spirits! The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Experience a collection of Artisan gifts featuring jewelry, pottery, glass, sculpture, wood and original artwork exhibited among festive holiday decorations for giving and for the home.
November 21 - December 24 Monday - Saturday | Holiday Hours 9 AM - 7 PM ALAMANCE ARTS | 213 S. Main Street, Graham, NC 27253 | 336.226.4495 | www.alamancearts.org
DECEMBER
For more events, visit EVENTS TicketMeTriad.com
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12/6 - MADE 4 THE HOLIDAYS Early Bird tickets for craft show Greensboro Farmers Curb Market 10:00 am
TicketMeTriad.com is powered by O.Henry Magazine
910.693.2516 Before purchasing tickets, please consult with the event organizer to confirm the event. If an event is canceled, the organizer will communicate directly with ticket holders regarding future plans and/or possible refunds.
O.Henry 43
A L M A N A C
December n By Ashley Wahl
D
ecember is here and, with it, the sound of a single cricket. One distant, mechanical song. A message transmitted across space and time. The stars are out. You cannot sleep. And so, you listen. Months ago, when the crape myrtle scattered her crinkled petals like pink confetti upon the earth beneath her, an orchestra of crickets filled the night with a song thick as honey. And months from now, when the vines are heavy with ripening fruit, they will sing again, knitting an afghan of sound by moonlight — gently tucking you into bed. On this cold December night, the cricket transmission grows clearer. You follow it like a single thread of yarn until you receive it: There is no end, the cricket sings. Only change. Somehow, this message brings you comfort. December isn’t an abrupt or happy ending. There is no hourglass to turn. No starting over. Just a continuum. An endless stream of light and color ever-shifting like a dreamy kaleidoscope. December is sharing what’s here: our warmth, our abundance, what we canned last summer. This year and the cold have softened us. We feed our neighbors, feed the birds, open our hearts and doors. The camellia blossoms. Holly bursts with scarlet berries. From the soil: gifts of iris, phlox and winterflowering crocus. The cricket offers his song — a tiny thread guiding us toward the warmth of spring — and we listen. This listening, too, is a gift. Sometimes it’s all we’ve got. And, sometimes, that listening is itself a simple thread of hope.
December’s wintry breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer’s memory . . . – John Geddes 84 O.Henry
You Gotta Eat Your Spinach, Baby
Fortunately, many nutrient rich greens thrive in our winter gardens. Especially spinach. And what’s not to love about it? Enter pint-sized Shirley Temple, ringlets bouncing as she marches past a small ensemble to join Jack Haley and Alice Faye centerstage: “Pardon me, did I hear you say spinach?” she asserts with furrowed brow and her punchy, sing-songy little voice. “I bring a message from the kids of the nation to tell you we can do without it.” And then, song: No spinach! Take away that awful greenery No spinach! Give us lots of jelly beanery We positively refuse to budge We like lollipops and we like fudge But no spinach, Hosanna! And now for the opposing view: In the 1930s, the spinach industry credited cartoonist Elzie Crisler (E.C.) Segar and his muscly armed sailor man for boosting spinach consumption in the U.S. by 33 percent. But why-oh-why did he eat it from a can? Longer shelf life, no doubt. Also, cooked spinach contains some health benefits that raw spinach does not. Raw spinach is rich in folate, vitamin C, niacin, riboflavin and potassium, but it also contains oxalic acid, which can hinder the body’s absorption of essential nutrients like calcium and iron. According to Vegetarian Times, eating cooked spinach allows you to “absorb higher levels of vitamins A and E, protein, fiber, zinc, thiamin, calcium and iron.” In other words: You gotta eat your spinach, baby.
Starry, Starry Night
Well, this is perfect: The Geminid meteor shower will be peak from mid-evening December 13 until dawn December 14 — a new moon. That means the show will be unobstructed from moonlight, and if conditions are right, you might catch up to 120 meteors per hour. Some believe this prolific shower ramps up every year. We’ll see. Regardless, may we allow this celestial pageant to remind us of the wonder and beauty that so often graces us. And don’t forget to make a wish. OH
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
WELCOME TO
S
T
Y
L
E
We’ve lined up 12 of the most wonderful businesses for this most wonderful time of the year. When planning your holiday shopping, please remember to Buy Local!
Remembering and living the spirit of the holiday season is one of the great joys in a home full of love. The Chesnutt-Tisdale Team is grateful to serve the Greensboro community for over 40 years helping make dreams of a beautiful home come true. From Kay and Xan, Happy Holidays!
86 O.Henry
1
Onee for
Hom DAYS I L O H E TH
336.202.9687 | KAYCHESNUTT.BHHSCAROLINAS.COM
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Two
Plaid GLOV ES
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TheGREEN Art & Soul of Greensboro 809 VALLEY RD, SUITE 101, GREENSBORO, NC | 336.944.5335 |
This pair of sisters, Anna and Emily of Threads Boutique has got everything you need. From Holiday Fashions to gifts galore, this boutique should be on your shopping list! Their customers are young and the young at heart. They have Threads for the classic American beauty or those looking for something uniquely on trend. Come fill out your wish list for Santa and they will make sure your favorites are under the tree on Christmas morning!
THREADSGREENSBORONC
O.Henry 87 THREADS.GREENSBORO
Bring joy and excitement to the life of a family member or friend. Dance lessons at Fred Astaire Dance Studios provide physical activity, social interaction and mental stimulation. Enjoy learning a new skill and make new friends in a fun and safe environment.
e e r h T es
Coupl G N I Z T L A W
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1500 MILL STREET, SUITE 105, GREENSBORO, NC | 336.379.9808 | FREDASTAIRE.COM/GREENSBORO 88 O.Henry The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Four
Festiv e Firs
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From Juliska’s iconic Berry and Thread line, transform your table or mantle into a Winter Wonderland with these medium-size trees from The Extra Ingredient. Set them out individually, in a group or stack them for more drama. Available in bestselling evergreen and classic clear, the 3 piece stackable trees stack 10.5” high and the 5 piece stackable trees stack 16” high. Add some lights for a magical effect to bring an extra dash of joy to the holidays.
LOCATED IN FRIENDLY CENTER | CURBSIDE SERVICE | TELEPHONE ORDERS | 336.299.9767 | EXTRAINGREDIENT.COM The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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For 127 years, generations of Piedmont Triad families have trusted Schiffman’s Jewelers to help celebrate life’s special moments. Schiffman’s takes great pride in its long-standing partnerships with the finest jewelry, watch and giftware brands in the world. On-site services include comprehensive jewelry and watch repair, appraisal and buying services. We treasure being part of your celebrations and welcome the opportunity to assist you in selecting the perfect gift to honor those who bring special meaning to your life.
90 O.Henry
Five y
Shin S RING
5
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Six
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Pairs o Eyegla f sses
Six is just the beginning. With thousands of frames in the store from an eclectic range of designers, we have eyewear for everyone’s style and budget. Family owned and operated since 1980, we pride ourselves on the quality and craftsmanship of the products we sell and produce. Our customers are our billboards: a perfectly fitted frame that showcases your style and features. In the frame are some of the highest quality HD lenses on the market. With this combo you will see the world in a whole new way!
The Art & Soul of 2222 Greensboro PATTERSON ST, SUITE A, GREENSBORO, NC | 336.852.7107 | HOUSEOFEYES.COM
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Wynnie’s, the Triad’s newest children’s boutique, is located in Uptowne High Point and offers a thoughtfully curated collection of apparel, accessories and gifts for babies and children, sizes NB-16. The team at Wynnie’s delights in helping customers find just the right thing for both milestone moments and the simplicity of an ordinary day. From the playground, to holidays, to choosing the perfect gift for a new baby -- Wynnie’s is thrilled to help families celebrate this special time.
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n e v e S als
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Rasc NG ROMPI
The Art & Soul of Greensboro 1210 N. MAIN STREET, HIGH POINT, NC | 336.850.5110 | WYNNIESBOUTIQUE.COM
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Lives CHANGE D
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Just down the road in Randleman, there’s a camp called Victory Junction. But, it’s so much more than a camp! It’s a place of hope, acceptance, and opportunity for all, regardless of ability. Victory Junction serves children with serious medical conditions throughout the year, on-site and off-site, including family retreats, summer camp, and hospital outreach. Together, we can provide spaces of compassion, understanding, and experiences free of barriers that embrace the unique differences of everyone. To make a donation, visit victoryjunction.org/donate.
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These are the shoes everyone is talking about! Men and Women alike are smitten with these lightweight comfy On sneakers. The most popular style features no-tie lacing and loads of colors and options. Come see what all the fuss is about…and take care of EVERYONE on your shopping list this season. We now have online shopping and ...We gift wrap too
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94 O.Henry The Art & Soul of Greensboro DOVER SQUARE | 1616 BATTLEGROUND AVE., GREENSBORO, NC | 336.851.5025 | MAINANDTAYLORSHOES.COM
Ten
10
Years O.Hen of ry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry magazine is proud to celebrate our 10th year as The Art & Soul of Greensboro. Our dedicated staff of publisher, writers, designers, photographers and account reps take our inspiration from the people of Greensboro, our readers, whose stories serve as a muse for our prose. It is an honor to be the voice of the city that has inspired countless others before us. We look forward to continuing to illuminate the city, both the familiar, and the yet to be discovered.
GREENSBORO, NC | 336.617.0090 | OHENRYMAG.COM
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Great Outdoor Provision Co. has what you need to stay outside longer this holiday season. And your purchases help support the Piedmont Land Conservancy here in the Triad. Whether hitting the trail or the water enjoy the fresh air with family and the best in outdoor gear for your adventure. The friendly staff at Great Outdoor Provision Co. have the gear for your gift list and complimentary gift wrap to make your shopping easy. In-store. Curbside. Online.
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s r e k i H G N I K I H
96 O.Henry The Art & Soul of Greensboro WESTOVER GALLERY OF SHOPS | 1410 WESTOVER TERRACE, GREENSBORO, NC | 336.851.1331 | GREATOUTDOORPROVISION.COM
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Twelve
Point Buck
Find this gorgeous guy and so much more at Carriage House Antiques & Home Decor. Carriage House is your source for fine antiques, lamps and shades, collectibles, vintage treasures and gifts for all occasions. Whether looking for that special piece or decorating an entire house, the creative staff of the Carriage House is ready to help. With their ever-changing inventory, a visit to the Carriage House is always a delightful experience.
Carriage House Antiques & Home Decor The Art & Soul of Greensboro
2214 GOLDEN GATE DRIVE, GREENSBORO, NC | 336.373.6200
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THE
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44 O.Henry
Just 90 minutes from Greensboro
Located adjacent to the historic Carolina Hotel • Village of Pinehurst, North Carolina • 888.230.3257 • pinehurst.com *Rate is per person, per night based on double occupancy. Valid 11.29.20 — 2.28.21. Subject to tax and resort service fee.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
December 2020 Worksock If I could round up stockings I’d take all the holey ones from Mama’s box of sewings, My father’s, first, the heel ragged as a monkey’s face. I’d hang that sock again for him And pray Santa would put an orange Or some nuts down in the thin And frayed toe, then arrange One real coconut with peeling skinned Off to let him know The love he held for me I hold for him. We were not poor — just didn’t have much money. Christmas meant longing: That chance to fill me with sunny Trances when I would skip the fields And pray for days that Jesus would not appear. I was never ready to see Him Alive instead of in a sermon nailed to a dogwood tree. Before sunup on Christmas day The plankhouse hummed with joy. In my stocking: raisins, a few English walnuts, toy From a Cracker Jack box I’d run A store with: I’d “sell” my brother a Mary Jane From his sock that Mama darned in a ray of sun.
— Shelby Stephenson
Shelby Stephenson was North Carolina Poet Laureate from 2015—2018. His most recent book is More.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 45
46 O.Henry
Christmas
Stories, Somewhat but Mostly Not True By Daniel Wallace
T
Illustration by Ippy Patterson
he oldest family Christmas story I know is about my great grandmother, Nona. This is the century before last. Nona was a widow. As far as anyone could tell, Nona had always been a widow — some said she was born one. The truth is that her husband, my great grandfather, perished much too young in the salt mines of northern Alabama, leaving her alone with a brand-new baby, my grandfather, Ewing. As everyone who knows anything knows, Alabama was once home to the largest salt deposits in North America, something having to do with the shallow Cambrian seas that once covered the entirety of the state. But the mines were deep and dangerous and only the bravest of men ventured into them. After the salt mine tragedy, Nona was penniless but proud, foraging for food in the forest to feed herself and her wee child. They moved into a straw hut abutting the tail end of the Appalachian mountain range. It was all they could afford. All Nona had was an old milk cow, named Deuce, and Deuce was about a day away from becoming their last supper when Nona had an idea. Ever resourceful and with a will of pig iron, she became a milk lady. In the beginning she only had enough milk to service a few homes, delivering it in old tin cups. But after making her first few sales she upgraded, got a cart, some bottles, and
O.Henry 47
before the sun was up she loaded the cart full of as many bottles as she could, pulled by the source of it all, Deuce. With her profits she purchased another cow, and another, and soon she became the most popular milk lady in town; but then again she was also the only one. Even though she was making enough to feed herself and young Ewing, she was still too poor for a tree, and their hut — one tiny room, shoebox-small — was too teeny for even a shrub. But as she was reported to say right from the start, “We do what we can with what we might have.” She said it in the way that people who come from nothing say that sort of thing, all matter of fact, followed by a brief shrug of the shoulders. So this is what happened on Christmas morning. Nona took Ewing off into the forest, pulled on a cart by the ever-loyal Deuce. And there they sat beneath the tallest, most majestic pine in the forest, an ancient giant of the Pinus clan, a tree so big it’s visible from space, they say. And there she would make a prayer, share some milk and give her son his present. As has been told to the subsequent generations of immeasurably spoiled and ungrateful children, Ewing was thrilled with his interesting pine cone or a rock in the shape of a shoe. But here is what was remarkable about that Christmas, and every Christmas they shared. They never spent it alone. One by one all the animals of the forest would creep up, join them there, slinking out of the forest-dark like shy friends. Deer, raccoons, wild hogs, bluebirds, hawks, turkeys, forest mice, coyotes, snakes, skunks, sometimes even a cougar or bobcat. Nona particularly loved a black bear she called Susie. They’d all keep their animal distance, but close enough for Ewing to see the warm steam of their collective breath. So the Christmas present really wasn’t a pine cone at all, nor a rock, it was the presentation and a celebration of the awesome myriad of life. She was actually giving Ewing the whole world. I met Nona when I was three days old and she was 101. A week later she died in her sleep and Deuce followed soon thereafter. In honor of her passing no one in town drank milk for a month.
A
nd now to her son, Ewing, my grandfather. Ewing was nicknamed “Dumbo” as a child, due to his larger-than-life ears. He was actually quite brilliant and used his ears to good effect: not only could he wear large hats; he could also hear everything. He could hear an owl sigh. He married my grandmother Lucille when he was but 18 years old, after he fell in
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love listening to her hum. Like his mother, Ewing was an inventive and resourceful entrepreneur. Would it surprise you to know that Ewing was the man who invented the boiled peanut stand? This is almost a true fact and let no one tell you different: the very first ever. He built it out of pallets and tree branches, using rusty nails pulled from old barns, and set it up on the side of the busiest road out of Cullman, a meager dirt road that disappeared after a hard rain and had to be repaved with more dirt next time the sun came out. His peanut stand was the most modern thing around at the time and people went no matter if they liked peanuts or not. Peanuts grew wild in Cullman. An underground forest of them in Ewing’s backyard became an underground goldmine. The first stand was a great success — boiled peanuts from a roadside stand! What a concept! — and that success led to a second, a few miles down the road. He hired his cousins and cousins of cousins, friends of his cousins and their sons and daughters and soon the stands were everywhere, from Alabama down through Mississippi, sweeping into Louisiana and Florida, up through Georgia and finally into the Carolinas. Very few people know that most boiled peanut stands back then were franchises, but that’s what they were in the beginning. A little part of every peanut sold found its way back to my grandfather’s pocket, and though he never became a rich man he was able to move his bride Lucille out of the thatched hut and into a proper house in town. Christmas was a magical time in my grandparents’ home. My father got all kinds of presents: peanuts, tiny cars made of peanut shells, and best of all, peanuts painstakingly carved by Lucille, intricate portraits of Washington and Lincoln, or detailed landscapes of the French countryside, all from her imagining what it might be like. Find one today and it’s worth more than a Fabergé egg. Alas, most of them were eaten. Lucille and Ewing saved and saved and eventually built an actual restaurant serving a great variety of foods. It was the only restaurant for 50 miles in any direction. Some people had never seen a restaurant before; many weren’t even familiar with the concept. Ewing and Lucille had to teach them to use a menu and then how to order their food from the lady in the pale blue frock. The good citizens of Cullman and beyond caught on quick. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
People take restaurants for granted, but they shouldn’t. Restaurants are everywhere now, sure. But it wasn’t always like that. You may have my grandparents to thank for that. Maybe not.
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ith boiled peanut money my grandparents bought a house big enough for a tree and had money at the end of the year to buy something for my dad, Eron, their only child. One Christmas morning my father got a pocket watch. On another he got a knife. The next, a bulky jacket, and then a pair of shoes — three sizes too big, for growing into. On his 16th Christmas they gave him a suitcase, on his 17th a compass. He saw where this was going. Year after year he had gotten one single thing until he got all the things he needed to make a life of his own and when he was 18 years old set off for the wider world. On his first Christmas morning alone my father woke before the sun came up, fell into the Mississippi River and floated 200 miles down stream to the Gulf of Mexico on a raft hastily assembled from twigs and mud grass, and was finally rescued by one of the bravest and most intrepid sailors ever to roam the Gulf of Mexico in an old shrimp trawler: Joan Pedigo, the woman who would become my mother. They fell in love in about three-quarters of a second. Family followed almost as quickly: me and three sisters, dogs and cats and a snake and a bird. Still: struggling. Lots of mouths to feed. It was my mother who had the idea for the salted peanut, which brought the two biggest industries in town — salt and peanuts — together for the first time. How no one had thought of it before her was a mystery. Thanks to the salted peanut for a period of years we were a family of not insignificant wealth. Later, a bigger company, the one that made complimentary peanuts — really nice people, for the most part — would put us out of business. But until then every Christmas we traveled to a different country in the world. We’d plan our trips out beginning on January 1, studying the language, the mode of dress, learning their customs and histories: Mongolia, Argentina, Gabon — you name it. One cold Christmas we spent with Eskimos in Greenland. Atelihai means hello, but that’s all the Inuit I remember. Because of my parents and Christmas our family has been almost everywhere there is to go. Name a place. Yep. Been there.
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Name another. Been there too.
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Christmas! Christmas seems made for tall tales: look at the big red one that persists to this day. These days our own Christmases aren’t quite as big as the ones that preceded it — no bears, I am sorry to say — but they are just as beautiful: North Carolina, where we have lived for the last 40 years or so, makes sure of that. Until this year for decades running my family has produced postcard-worthy Christmases: the tree, the lights, the boxes wrapped in shiny paper, all of us gathered together next to the hearth beneath what felt like a dome of warmth and love. But Christmas is not the same this time around. The pandemic has put a chink in our plans. Our clan is distant and scattered, and we do so many things in the world: we’re lawyers, doctors, construction workers, stage designers, Navy men and women, judges, paralegals, writers, scientists, artists, animal trainers. Every one of us knows a little bit about something, and together — could you bring us all together — we’d know practically everything. My second cousin is training snow-white pigeons to fly back and forth between our many homes, carrying Christmas greetings; another is perfecting the hologram, so even if we’re not together we will look like we are. But then I think back to Nona, and those misty mornings she spent beneath that towering pine, with mountain lions and turtles, et al; of my father, floating down the Mississippi clinging to a twig and a blade of grass. Which is just to say that yes, Christmas will be different this year, but it’s different almost every year, in one way or another. It’s what Nona said: We do what we can with what we might have: to hope and work for better times while making these times the best they can possibly be. That may be the story of our Christmas this year, but it may also be the story of all our lives. OH Daniel Wallace is author of six novels, including Big Fish (1998) and, most recently, Extraordinary Adventures (2017). His fourth novel, Mr. Sebastian and the Negro Magician, won the Sir Walter Raleigh Prize for best fiction published in North Carolina in 2009, and in 2019 he won the Harper Lee Award, an award given to a living, nationally recognized Alabama writer who has made a significant lifelong contribution to Alabama letters. He lives in Chapel Hill where he directs the Creative Writing Program at the University of North Carolina. O.Henry 49
of the Photographs by Lynn Donovan ot every prayer is formal or religious. Many are not. Bestselling author Anne Lamott wrote Help, Thanks, Wow as a reminder that, yep, a prayer can be as simple as one word. When it comes to asking for guidance, there isn’t a formula. We can show gratitude in as many ways as there are moments in the day. And there’s no wrong way. We can pray together. We can pray alone. It doesn’t even have to be out loud. Dance might be our prayer. Or song. Or our gentle steps upon this Earth. “I see you,” is a prayer of recognition. “I love you” is better. Sometimes our thoughtful actions are another’s answered prayer. What is prayer but faith that we are a part of something bigger than ourselves? We asked a handful of religious and spiritual leaders across Greensboro to offer their prayers for our community and the world at large as a way of calling in a bit of hope at the end of this emotionally turbulent year. We add our prayers to theirs. We figured we could use as many as we could get.
A Prayer for Oneness By Son Pham All living beings are my parents All living beings are my siblings All living beings are suffering I fervently generate indestructible love and compassion By the blessing of immeasurable love By the force of awareness of unmistaken truth Of all previous great holy beings May all living beings be free from the dangers of illness Grasping hands in a circle of friendship Seeing the wisdom of benefit to self and others By the perfections of generosity, morality and patience May all living beings be free from the dangers of illness This disease, as well as all future wars, famine, and crises Shall not arise to be named From the smallest plant to every creature on this planet May all be victorious over unwanted harm. **This prayer, an essence of a prayer composed by Buddhist monk Demo Rinpoche, is offered daily at the Thousand Buddha Temple. Before prayer, a breathing meditation is practiced to clear the mind of distracting thoughts. And for the prayer to be effective, says Son Pham, we must make a strong connection to the people we are praying for. Imagine all living beings are your parents, in this lifetime and our uncountable past lives. Then awaken your mind by focusing on what is happening around you, and who and what you are praying for. Understanding the sufferings of all people on this planet makes it possible to generate pure love and compassion for everyone, not just the people we like or love. Son Pham is the principal teacher and founder of Thousand Buddha Temple in Greensboro. A lifelong Buddhist, Pham offers private consultations for professionals seeking stress management through meditation and Buddhist principles. www.chuanganphat.org
A Prayer for Peace By Julie Peeples Holy One, Can we talk? This long year, 2020, has just been too much! Too much distancing, too much Zoom, too much loss, too much change and way too much partisan rhetoric and hate speech. Yet somehow in the midst of it all, there has been no quarantine on Your love, no distance between us and Your grace. We have glimpsed Your presence in the life-giving, unexpected gifts of sidewalk-chalk flowers, fresh-baked cookies dropped off on the porch, smiles detectable even above a mask. We’ve caught the essence of Your love in compassionate medical workers, dedicated teachers and patient parents. We’ve witnessed Your creative beauty in the musicians, artists and poets whose talents have lifted our flagging spirits. Call to us now — whisper Your peace to us in the chilly winter wind, in the distant sunrise, in the bare beauty of the trees. Infect us with Your peace that passes all understanding. Make peace the new pandemic for which there is no cure. Peace with justice, peace with renewed commitment to the common good. Make this peace-virus so hard to resist that more and more of us will be eager to come down with it and share it with others. Give us courage to be determined advocates for the rights and dignity of all people, so that all may live in peace. Thank You, Gracious Spirit, for carrying us through this tumultuous year, and assuring us that no matter what 2021 brings, we will see it through together. Amen. Julie Peeples has been the senior minister of Congregational United Church of Christ since 1991. She is an advocate for equality and justice issues, particularly for LGBTQ and immigrant rights. congregationalucc.com
A Prayer for All Beings, Everywhere By Fred Guttman Our God and God of our ancestors, God of all human beings and God of all animals and plants, We ask You to bless all human beings, wherever they may dwell. May it be God’s will to comfort those who are ill and in distress. May it be God’s will to deliver them speedily from the darkness to the light. Bless all Your children, in every land, nation and community. Unite us all in understanding. Unite us all in mutual helpfulness. Unite us all with the spirit of community. Oh God, hasten the day, please. Bimhayrah veyamanu — soon and speedily. Hasten the day when we, all of us as Your children, God, can rejoice in a world where our bodies and souls are healed; a world of health and peace! Amen. Fred Guttman has been a rabbi since 1979 and lived in Israel for 13 years. He has served as the rabbi of Temple Emanuel in Greensboro since 1995 and plans to retire this summer. www.tegreensboro.org/meet-our-staff
A Conversation with God By Marilyn Wolf
Hello God, I’ve come to You so many times, asking for guidance, answers or forgiveness. This time I’m asking for peace. And to be honest, I’m not even sure what that means. But I’m pretty sure what peace is not. Peace isn’t being trouble-free. It’s not having things go my way or getting what I want. Peace is not a goal, an achievement or a prize. It is not something I can make happen no matter how hard I pray or meditate. These days, I hear lots of pithy sayings about peace. It’s every step you take. It’s the space between the breaths. It’s our true essence. I kind of get all that on one level, but actually, if someone asked me to explain how peace is the space between the breaths, I’d have to make something up and hope I sounded smart. In church, I’ve heard “the peace of God which surpasses all understanding.” So, I guess it’s OK that I don’t understand it. Maybe peace isn’t something we can get with our minds. Is it possible that it’s really just a state of being? Being OK no matter what’s going on around me, like a boat with a deep rudder that can ride out the storm? But if I have to wait until the storms pass to be at peace, then I could be waiting a long time. And at this stage in my life, I don’t have that kind of time. Now, here’s a thought: Maybe peace is giving up trying to figure out what peace is, to quit pursuing it, and to stop feeling bad about myself because I’m not as peaceful as I think I ought to be. In other words, being OK no matter what. Being peaceful even when I’m not peaceful? Now, that is definitely a peace that surpasses all understanding. Thank you, God. I like it. And for now, I think I’m OK. Marilyn Wolf, M.Ed. is a retired psychotherapist who offers guidance for spiritual and personal growth through her practice. She is also an Enneagram teacher, certified energy work practitioner and founding director of The School at Space for Conscious Living. www.spaceforconsciousliving.com.
A Prayer to the Loving Creator By Daran Mitchell Amidst the wild shadows that cover and hover over the evening of our deepest fears, we pause to return to You our humble thanks. With hearts overflowing with joy and an eye single to Your never-failing love, we offer to You our sincere petitions. Loving Creator, our journeys to this precipice have been marked with much sorrow and grief. The restiveness of this year has taken its toll upon the human circle. We wince as we witness the unraveling of life as we have known and lived it. The strain of toil has caused our spirits to wilt as we gather the shards of what started out to be a promising year. We lay before You our pain and bear before You our deepest anguish. From the harshness and restlessness of life, filled with hectic haste and selfish strife, we come to You to learn good will and to be warmed by Your presence. Eternal Spirit, we confess afresh that we are not sure what lies beyond the bluffs of this blistering and blazing precipice. Our souls are buffeted with nagging queries not yet answered; with distressing cries that have seemingly gone unheard. We long for the peace that is Yours to give and ours to receive. Grant, we pray, ears and eyes to behold the life that is beyond this summit of uncertainty. Give hope to our anxious strivings and a gentle pace to balance the frantic search for what we have sought to call a new normal. We stand waiting and watching as You speak through the chill of winter and the promise and dawn of yet a new year. In your Name, Amen. Daran H. Mitchell is the senior minister of Trinity African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church in Greensboro. He is an adjunct professor of pastoral theology at Hood Theological Seminary in Salisbury and an adjunct professor of religion at Greensboro College. www.facebook.com/trinityameziongreensboro
A New Year’s Blessing By Kim Priddy Help us to begin this year with grace, and to remember the courage that carried us here. Ready our hearts to engage the world, for there are dreams to be realized. Prepare our souls for exciting possibilities, for there are new terrains to traverse. Strengthen our minds to resist the darkness, for there is light to be played in. And now we are here, at the threshold of what has been and what is to come. Hope calls our heart, our soul, our mind, that we might enter into a new year filled with assurance and resolution. And may it be so . . . Amen. Rev. Kim Priddy is the pastor of Sedgefield Presbyterian Church in Greensboro. Her ministerial experiences have been shaped through her work with many of the most vulnerable in her community. sedgefieldpresbyterian.org
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A Prayer for Hope By Greg Farrand Gracious God, Infinite Mystery, Divine Source, As we step tentatively and inevitably into the unknown of this New Year, we are in desperate need of hope. The atmosphere, the very air we breathe, is charged with fear, anger, mistrust and cynicism. Without intervention, without intention, the gravitational pull of these dark impulses drag us into a swirling state of anxiety and reactivity. We begin to believe that real change is impossible. We metabolize the delusion that we are separate and on our own, like cosmic orphans in a hostile universe. It looks like darkness will win and, Beloved One, we are in need of hope. Not the sugary hope that plugs its ears and shuts its eyes. We need the gritty, raw, dirt-under-the-fingernails kind of hope that lifts our chins and rekindles our inner fire. Give us a spacious hope that reminds us, again and again, that love and light always wins. Always. Give us an active hope that reveals the power of our small acts of kindness and compassion — small acts that ripple out like waves that touch countless lives. These small acts flow together to heal the world. Give us a connected hope that heals the delusion that we are alone and isolated. An abundant hope that knows resources are not scarce. There is enough food to feed everyone. Enough clothes to cover everyone. Enough homes to house everyone. We don’t need more resources, O God, we need Your hope to stir creative compassion. And with this hope, we brush away the dust of cynicism and constricted living and step into this new, unknown year with anticipation and gratitude for all that will evolve and unfold. Amen. Rev. Greg Farrand is the co-director of Second Breath Center, a center that offers life transforming spiritual practices rooted in the Christian wisdom tradition. www.secondbreathcenter.com.
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Calling My Heart By Linda Beatrice Brown I Prayer in Winter There is some mystery calling my heart, Some angel dust, some lustrous wings. Oh Holy One, oh beautiful and fierce lover of souls, Mother, I need Your incandescent voice. I need Your blanket of moonlight, Your star that never leaves us, never weakens. The road is full of pits and shadows. I stumble often. Light up my path or I am lost. Oh Mother, do You know how the darkness threatens and cajoles us? We have removed ourselves from ourselves. No wonder we cry. No wonder we kill. Mother, I need Your bird song, Your voice, Your waterfall of love, Your gold bright music. Come to my heart that is Yours always. I hold out my hand. Please take it. II Answer Listen, the ocean waves are breathing in you, Waves caroling my name. I am the heartbeat of the planet. When you call I am the breeze on your neck. Listen, fasten your sandals and take my hand. We go to drink the source of life, the eternal Spring. Understand, your heart will be made whole. Do not be deceived. I live within the darkness. I am waiting to visit my blinding radiance upon you. All things in their time. Do not despair, but know me. Those who know me know the heart of love. I hold out my hand. Please take it. (This is the winter version of “A Prayer for Human Healing in Our Time,” also by Linda Beatrice Brown) Linda Beatrice Brown has written a number of novels, poems, plays, short stories and essays. Currently on the faculty at The School at Space for Conscious Living, she’s been a member of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church for over 25 years. www.lindabeatricebrownauthor.com
A Native American Blessing By Daphine Locklear Yellowbird Strickland & R ay Silva Creator, We come to You in reverence and with grateful hearts. We ask for Your blessings upon our community and communities throughout Mother Earth. We are in a time of trouble. Disease has spread throughout our land and is bringing sickness and death to our families, our friends and our neighbors. We have failed to care for Mother Earth and now she is raging with fires, storms and a pandemic throughout all nations. She is weeping for our grandmothers, our children, our sisters and brothers. Help us to cease from polluting and poisoning her and to work as one to restore her harmony. There is much bitterness and divisiveness within our communities. Teach us to not listen to the two-hearted, the destroyers of minds, the haters and self-made leaders — those who lust for wealth and power and lead us into confusion and darkness. Remind us to seek out visions of world beauty and nonviolence within our community and throughout Mother Earth. Remind us all of our roots, our heritages and the wisdom bestowed upon us by our ancestors, for they will never misguide or mislead us. We ask that You bless and keep us safe and healthy, full of joy and good will toward all living beings. Lead us to be: Visionaries, for “where there is no vision, there is no hope”; Trailblazers, for “if not us, who?”; Wisdom keepers to preserve and keep our many histories, cultures and traditions alive; Leaders to give direction to those who follow; and faith to reach the possible when it seems impossible. For these things we offer our gratitude and praise to You. Aho (Amen) **This prayer includes words of wisdom from the late Ruth L. Revels, who was an enrolled member of the Lumbee tribe. Daphine Locklear Yellowbird Strickland is an enrolled member of the Lumbee tribe and is part Tuscarora. Ray Silva is an enrolled member of the Laguna Pueblo tribe. They co-created this blessing on behalf of the Guilford County Native American Association. www.facebook.com/ guilfordnativepowwow2020
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Ann Beane makes fabric quilts, but the idea for her barn quilt came from another source: a desk calendar with pictures of quilt squares. “Four Dancing Tulips” leapt out at her. “I just love flowers. I work outside all the time, and I just wanted something that looked different,” she says. The square, painted by the Randolph County Quilters Guild for the local quilt trail, hangs on a reconstructed log cabin owned by Ann and her husband, Lyndon. The perky design regularly stops traffic at 5171 Fred Lineberry Road, Randleman. “Especially in the spring time and now, when the leaves are turning, they’ll be pulled over, and I’ll think, ‘Oh, do they have car trouble?’ But then I’ll see their cameras,” Ann says.
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t All Squared Away Barn quilts that blanket the landscape
By Maria Johnson • Photographs By Lynn Donovan
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e know you’re tired of scandals and lies, but we think you deserve to know the truth about barn quilts. They’re not quilts, at least not the kind you cuddle under. And only a fraction of them hang on barns. There. We said it. Cover-up exposed. Still, we know this won’t stop folks from posting the large kaleidoscopic squares on the sides of barns — or from hanging shrunken versions in decidedly un-Old-MacDonald locations: bedrooms, sunrooms, sheds, patios and storefronts. Beth Ball, the owner of BBs Barn Quilts in Alamance County, displays a 2-by-2-foot barn quilt on the white vinyl fence outside her Haw River townhouse. She flips one side of the reversible panel, a red-white-and-blue design, toward her patio on patriotic holidays. The other side, a vibrant starburst, shines the rest of the year. “It’s a different way to bring some art into your outdoor space,” she says. In the last two years, Ball, who leads barn quilt classes as fundraisers for nonprofit groups, has walked 600 to 700 people through the process of drawing their designs on primed plywood then painting them with exterior latex paint. Students can choose from the 25 geometric patterns that Ball offers, or they can use their own patterns. Many people bring designs from family quilts. “They’re very sentimental to people. They’ll say, ‘Oh, this one belonged to my mom,’” she says. At the Wallburg Emporium & Coffee Shop near Winston-Salem, barista Sheila Craven leads a couple of barn quilt classes every month. Participants leave with a 2-by-2-foot square in the “Yankee Puzzle” pattern, done in the colors of their choosing. The whole process takes about three hours, which gives students plenty of time to sip coffee while they literally watch paint dry. The history of barn quilts in this country goes back to Dutch and German settlers of the 1600s, who decorated their barns with “hex The Art & Soul of Greensboro
signs” to invite good luck and ward off evil spirits. The designs repeated decorative motifs found inside their homes: flowers, birds, hearts, trees and stars. Later, some barn signs, especially those on Quaker farms, borrowed from cloth quilts that were draped outside homes on the Underground Railroad, a conduit for escaped slaves. Patterns in squares conveyed coded information: bear claws meant take a mountainous route; a bowtie pattern meant to wear a disguise; a log cabin design of layered rectangles at right angles meant to seek shelter — or that the owner of the home was safe to talk to. Hex signs fell out of favor with the rise of Christian churches in rural areas. The craft lolled around for decades until it resurfaced in the early 2000s, thanks to an Ohio woman who popularized barn quilts as a tribute to her mother, a quilter of the needle-and-thread variety. In the Piedmont, Rockingham County and Randolph County maintain quilt trails for self-guided driving tours. Slightly farther afield, mountainous Ashe County boasts a trail with a whopping 150 sites. Professional artists often paint the big squares that show up on trails, but when it comes to the take-home panels, this folk art belongs squarely to the folks. “In many cases, they’re the only thing the student has ever painted,” says Ball. OH For information about a December 12 quilt-painting class lead by Beth Ball to benefit Alamance Arts, go to alamancearts.org/communityclasses. Check the Facebook page of Wallburg Emporium & Coffee Shop for their next class. Find the Rockingham County quilt trail at visitrockinghamcountync.com/quilt-trail/. The Randolph County quilt trail: randolphcountync.gov/Departments/Soil-and-Water/QuiltTrail or www.piedmontconservation.org/projects/quilttrail/. The Ashe County trail: ashecountyarts.org/barn-quilts.php. Individual listings are subject to change, so wrap yourself in a sense of adventure and flexibility if you hit the road. O.Henry 61
Talk about a family affair. Mona Farmer’s paternal grandmother, Anna D. Bean, was an avid quilter, and she left behind several unfinished quilt tops. Mona loved the one with the log cabin design, so when she heard about the Rockingham County Quilt Trail, Mona asked her granddaughter, Brianna Hennis, to paint a square based on it. Brianna’s interpretation hangs on the log cabin where Mona and her husband, Stanley, live, a refurbished tobacco pack house that dates back more than 100 years. You can find the cabin at Pin Oak Farm, 215 McDaniel Road in Eden.
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Come winter, Ava Rakestraw, who adored being outside in warmer weather, occupied herself with making quilts. When it came time to stitch the squares together, she unfurled her work on a makeshift quilting frame — long boards laid over the backs of chairs. Before she died at age 102, Ava gave quilts to five great-grandchildren, including Ann Rakestraw Dixon’s sons, Kevin and Keith; the double wedding ring pattern on those quilts inspired the barn quilt that adorns an old tobacco barn on Ann’s property at 291 Crowder Road, Madison. Rockingham County artist Patricia Perdue painted the panel.
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Who says barn quilts have to be painted on wood panels? Artist Teresa Talley Phillips shattered that notion when she made a glass mosaic for the Chinqua-Penn Walking Trail, a 1.7-mile loop named for the former home of Jeff and Betsy Penn, Reidsville’s Gilded Age power couple. The state now owns much of the estate, site of the N.C. Upper Piedmont Research Station, an agricultural testing ground. The 2-by-2-foot square — made with backer board, stained glass and grout — depicts the cattle, birds, bamboo and butterflies seen along the popular trail. The center of the square shows the Summer House, a gazebo-like structure furnished with mill-stone tables and benches beside Betsy Lake. The trailhead and parking lot are near 2138 Wentworth Street, Reidsville.
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About 20 years ago — before the Randolph County Barn Quilt Trail existed — Joann Hammer saw a story about a lady who made the large squares in a nearby community. A glowing design called Nirvana caught Joann’s attention. “If I had a barn, I would want one,” she says. Alas, Joann didn’t have a barn, so she did the next best thing: she paid for the artist to create another Nirvana as a gift for her daughter, Wanda Cox, and her husband, Dannie, who had a barn on their property. Today, the panel still hangs on the Coxes’ barn beside the road at 4804 Moffitt Mill Road, Ramseur.
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The Elf Doctor Dr. Kimberlee D. Shaw prescribes a little comic relief to cure the pandemic blues
By Cynthia Adams • Photographs by Bert VanderVeen
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ith a languorous stretch and neck roll, Dr. Kimberlee Shaw notes the time. It is 5:30 p.m. at Eagle Family Medicine at Village, a practice located on East Wendover Avenue. Pandemic workdays unspool in spectacularly stressful ways. Chronic stress, as the doctor knows so well, causes fatigue, grumpiness, ennui and a host of physical issues. Shaw has always prescribed a liberal application of humor to ease life’s pain. But 2020 has gnawed gaiety down to the bone. As Shaw stands up, the soft jangling of jingle bells remind her that she does have a remedy for grumpiness and ennui, by golly. Squaring athletic shoulders (Shaw is a former UNC-Ch rowing team member), she shakes off fatigue, which creates a serious glitter storm. Er, what? That’s right. Glitter emanates from Shaw herself, and a hair band with a felt Christmas tree bobbles atop her mop of irrepressible light brown curls. This is no staid doctor in a lab coat. No siree. Shaw has donned a lurid Christmas sweater paired with bedazzled Lurex emerald pants. And the matching green shoes? Elf shoes, straight from a Keebler ad. Shaw doubles down on her dose of glee by putting on shades embellished with reindeer horns, her candy cane hoop earrings dangling wildly. Her cure for 2020’s malaise has been patient-tested; the known side effects are giggling and irrepressible mirth. And the application of her novel armamentarium vanquishes tension and pain in statistically significant ways. From a room down the hall, she retrieves a bin containing some of her after-Christmas haul — the “schlocky stuff” marked at 70 percent off — leaving a glittering debris field in her wake, sequins and shimmering, colorful bits sparkling in the industrial fluorescent light. It’s the annual reappearance of dress-up-like-elves time at the physicians’ offices, in preparation for the holiday season. Shaw has worked here for a decade. A few of Shaw’s staff groan. One moans from her office down the hall, “I forgot!” Amy, a petite 20-year veteran of nursing, plays the office curmudgeon: “I don’t want to dress up!” The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Shaw doesn’t argue or coax. She simply begins a jig in the hallway, heels kicking. Resistance is futile. “Just be human; just make people laugh,” Shaw advises. “I’m doing this because it makes me happy.” “I love Christmas, I just don’t want to dress up,” says Amy. “But I love Dr. Shaw and would do anything for her.” Within minutes, Amy emerges from an office, transformed into a grumpy elf, now galumphing in oversized shoes and kicking up her own bedazzled heels. Before long, Dr. Dean Mitchell sticks his head out into the hallway. “Hey, what is all the fun about?” He immediately joins in the hijinks, pretending to be a patient playfully checking out. Mugging for a camera, Mitchell offers Dum Dum lollipops in payment. Privately, Mitchell correctly diagnoses what was happening: A contagion of laughter. Patient zero for this contagion was Shaw, who was happier than anyone, cavorting, twirling. Effervescent. Patient reactions when a costumed Shaw springs into an examining room as they wait in a hospital gown? “People start hee-hawing,” Shaw says. Yet Shaw does take medicine seriously, and recalls having one or two instances when a patient was in “for something serious.” She navigates those instances with care. Once, dressed as Cat in the Hat for Halloween — wearing giant white hands and that crazy hat — she realized she had difficult news to convey. “We were having a good time, but then we had to have this big conversation,” recalls Shaw. “I realized I was sitting there with this big hat on and I wanted them to know I took it seriously.” She removed the comical hat and did away with the costume. “I said, ‘Excuse me. Let me take this off.’ I don’t want people leaving
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thinking I don’t take them seriously.” “You’d be surprised how much people don’t complain [when I’m in costume]. I don’t know if they forget themselves?” Yet Shaw, the perennial optimist, has more than a passing acquaintance with sorrow. One sorrow was pivotal. There were no other physicians in her family, but since babyhood Shaw wanted to be a doctor. Her parents, Jerry and Carolyn Dilda, fully supported her. Her father pushed Shaw to apply for the N.C. Board of Governor’s scholarship. It was merit-based but there was a financial component for applicants; she worried he would procrastinate on the paperwork. “I told him he had to get his taxes done. ‘Write the essay,’ he told me. ‘I’ll get the taxes done.’ And he did.” Shaw was working in Boston when she was called home; her father was at the hospital following a catastrophic stroke. She reached the Charlotte hospital by evening. “They kept him alive long enough for us to all get there.” She added, “Daddy didn’t believe in doctors — unless you are bleeding and cannot stop the bleeding. He had keeled over at his desk, age 57, at home.” The very next day, Shaw received the letter announcing her full ride to medical school. “He died in May. I began medical school in August. The experience of being on that side as a patient, that life-changing event, made me approach medical school in a completely different way,” she explains. Losing her father as her own life’s dreams were opening might have derailed her. But instead, her first year of medical school, amidst gutting loss, lent a fierce focus for the young physician. “It was a blessing. It gave me something to do . . . to focus on something other than that grief.” It also “opened a hole in me,” Shaw says, “so the joy could come in.” She learned her father, an engineer with a small business, had The Art & Soul of Greensboro
uncontrolled sleep apnea. He was taking aspirin all the time. He had uncontrolled high blood pressure. She would apply these insights later. But Shaw was riveted by the memory of an awkward young physician who met with her family on the night of her father’s death. “He might have been a first-year resident.” She noted how he “was clearly out of his element.” Adding to the direness of the situation was the resident’s discomfort and the sterility of the setting. “Every part of it was not good. And you can make that better,” she has discovered. “But at the funeral home, the director was so great. He reassured us. I almost, at that point, thought, ‘Maybe I should be a funeral director.’” Shaw was struck by the experience of seeing death met with such grace and understanding, profoundly different than the resident had handled it. She retained the lesson. This became the central theme she returns to: Sorrow makes way for happiness. Wounds heal. There was a telling coincidence while she was at Carolina studying medicine. The Robin Williams film, Patch Adams, was being filmed on the campus. Shaw watched Williams wheeling his bike “down Franklin Street, in character.” In costume. It planted a seed. Dr. Patch Adams, on whom the film is based, championed the idea of laughter therapy, and founded the much-loved Gesundheit! Institute. “There is a reason for the phrase comic relief,” wrote Adams in his book, House Calls. “When suffering is great, there is a call for relief. Whatever we are nervous about or emotional over is where jokes come from.” The Art & Soul of Greensboro
He cited Voltaire: “The purpose of the doctor is to entertain the patient while disease takes its course.” Shaw’s parents, her biggest influences, were original thinkers, too. Her mother enjoyed historic reenactments, returning to school to learn historically accurate cooking. She raised chickens “and can grow anything.” Whereas Shaw’s mother “was from a prim and proper Southern background, Daddy was the force.” She learned joy by virtue of her parents’ example: “Christmas is not what you get. It’s what you give; the joy of the holidays.” Their Christmases were simple: “My mother chose, intentionally, to keep it simple and I see that this led to thinking buying gifts was not all it’s cracked up to be.” “My kids adore her,” Shaw says. “My mother showed up four years ago wearing a witch hat and these witch shoes for her regular annual wellness exam with Dr. Elaine Griffin! Stone faced normal! Just checked in. Sat down. She just likes to do that one little thing that is different.” And so does her daughter: “Just do something — be human! Just make people laugh. There’s no reason not to! I do this because it makes me happy,” she says. Patch Adams once said, “the reason adults should look as though they are having fun is to give kids a reason to want to grow up.” There remain ways we can alleviate the pain of a pandemic. “Many, little things we can do,” Shaw insists. “Now I’m looking for funny masks,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Why not? Why not make it funny?” OH Cynthia Adams is a contributing editor of O.Henry whose dog is named for Dr. Patch Adams, whom she once met. If she’s not Dr. Shaw’s favorite patient, please don’t tell her. O.Henry 71
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
T H E C R E AT O R S O F N C
Art in Service Rosalia Torres-Weiner’s flowers blossom By Wiley Cash Photographs by Mallory Cash
People begin arriving at 2 p.m. sharp
on a Saturday afternoon at the Compare Foods Supermarket on Sharon Amity in east Charlotte: elderly men and women, families with small children, single mothers with babies on their hips — each of them carrying a distinctly different painting of bold, colorful flowers on 8x10 canvases. A few people appear uncertain, others seem excited to discover the source of the mystery that has brought them together. A message on the back of each painting has instructed them to arrive at this location on this day and at this time.
Over the past several days, the paintings — a hundred of them, in fact — have been found scattered around the Queen City on park benches, at bus stops, and inside laundromats, places that one does not expect to find works of art, especially art of this caliber. The artist, Charlotte’s Rosalia Torres-Weiner, is waiting for them, sitting on a folding chair outside her boldly painted art truck. The art truck is a repurposed delivery truck that, before the pandemic, Torres-Weiner used
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to deliver art supplies and arts education to Charlotte’s underserved Latinx communities. Today, those communities are coming to her. Some people arrive speaking Spanish, others English, but TorresWeiner, who was born and raised in Mexico City, moves effortlessly between the two languages, greeting everyone with a warm smile that cannot be denied, even by the mask she wears due to the continued rise in coronavirus cases in North Carolina, where Charlotte’s Latinx population has been particularly affected. Over the summer, Charlotte’s WBTV reported that Hispanic people make up about 10 percent of North Carolina’s population, but they comprised roughly 46 percent of the state’s coronavirus cases. According to Atrium Health, 25 percent of Hispanics who were tested were positive for COVID-19, while testing for other groups returned positive rates at only 9.5 percent. Torres-Weiner, a self-described “artivist” whose work is fueled by service to her community, felt called to respond to the devastating effects of the COVID crisis. “All my work comes from the community, and while I obeyed the orders to stay home, I realized that I needed to do something,” she says. She soon found herself asking: “What can I do to produce art and help the Latino community?” This question led to an idea, and the idea eventually grew into action. Torres-Weiner’s husband, Ben Weiner, who works in technology, has grown accustomed to his wife coming up with these kinds of
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ideas, ideas that put her art to work in service of the community. He lovingly refers to these moments of inspiration, which he envisions as tiny black beans that grow into something larger, as frijolitos, and he has dubbed his wife’s visionary projects as “Frijolito, Inc.” As usual — and as her husband probably predicted — Torres-Weiner’s ideas on how to confront COVID grew. One day, while bouncing ideas off a friend who is also part of Charlotte’s Latinx community, Torres-Weiner decided that she would find a way to distribute sanitization supplies to underserved communities. Her friend told her that was a great idea, but what people really needed was food. Mother and fathers were dying of COVID, leaving behind spouses and children who needed support. Yes, they needed supplies to protect their bodies, but they also needed food, especially children, who were going to bed hungry, their physical pain compounded by the emotional pain of losing a parent to the coronavirus. Pain and beauty: Torres-Weiner was motivated by one and desperate to spread the other, and she recalled a quote from the impressionist painter Claude Monet, “I must have flowers, always, and always.” She knew how to spread beauty, and she decided to paint a hundred 8x10 canvases with bold, colorful flowers. But she knew she needed help finding a way to address the pain people were feeling. Frijolito, Inc. sprang into action. Although she has made a living as a professional artist, TorresThe Art & Soul of Greensboro
Weiner went to college for business administration. “My sister became a lawyer, my other sister became a doctor, so when I told my mother I wanted to be an artist, there was not a choice,” she says. But sometimes mothers know best, and Torres-Weiner admits that her business background has provided the tools she needed to find funding and partnerships for her art projects. For her latest, she reached out to Google Fiber. With their support, Torres-Weiner was able to ensure that for each painting she painted, its new owner would have access to a gift bag containing hand sanitizer, masks, soap and other items. Also, each bag would contain a $50 gift card to Compare Foods Supermarket. As is often the case when Torres-Weiner executes a plan, her husband is on-site today. Each time someone arrives with their newfound art in hand, Torres-Weiner checks the number on the back of the painting and calls it out to her husband, who is inside the art truck, where the gifts bags are waiting. Out of the 100 paintings TorresWeiner distributed across Charlotte, 89 find their way back to their creator, and although the new owners get to keep the paintings, many of them cannot believe their good fortune. Surely there is a catch, some of them ask. Others try to return their paintings, certain that such beautiful art cannot have been passed on to them for free. If you ask Torres-Weiner why she feels compelled to use her art to support her community, she will respond by telling you that this is a community that has always supported her from the moment she and her husband arrived in Charlotte from Los Angeles in the mid-1990s. “I remember when we moved here,” she says, “and we saw a church on almost every corner of the city, and we saw everyone playing baseball and taking their kids to activities, and my husband and I looked at each other and said, ‘This is our city. This place is going to embrace us.’ And it did. We’ve been here 26 years.” But others in the city were not as convinced as Torres-Weiner that Charlotte was the place for her and her art. “When I started painting my colorful art, someone said, ‘You need to move to Santa Fe or San Francisco.’ I’m glad I didn’t listen.” Another time, while she was working on a mural in Washington, D.C., she told someone that she was ready to return home. They asked if she was heading back to Mexico. “No,” she said. “I’m going back to Charlotte, North Carolina. That’s my home.” But home changes, and artists adapt, and Torres-Weiner has adapted, easily blending her Mexican cultural heritage into her work as a Mexican-American artivist living in Charlotte. By way of example, she references cuisine and how foodways can merge cultures and bring people together. A few years ago, while standing in line at a walk-up Mexican restaurant that had long been a secret kept within the Latinx community, Torres-Weiner noticed the diversity of people waiting with her, and she struck up a conversation with a Black man who was standing behind her. He saw the paint on her clothes, and he asked if she was a painter. She said she was. As a matter of fact, she had painted the nearby mural of the Lady of Guadalupe on Central Avenue. The man told her the neighborhood had once housed primarily Black families, and before that White Charlotteans had made it their home. Now, the neighborhood was home primarily to members of the Latinx community, and Torres-Weiner explained that she was painting the mural to welcome them to Charlotte. While they waited for their lunch, Torres-Weiner and The Art & Soul of Greensboro
the man continued to talk about old landmarks, how communities change, how they maintain their hospitality, how they can welcome anyone who is looking for a home. Rosalia Torres-Weiner’s career has taken her all over the world, and her work has been featured in major museum collections and ended up on the cover of a United States history textbook. But no matter where she goes or where her work is showcased, Charlotte remains home. “Last year, I was selected to represent North Carolina as a Mexican artist when an event was organized in Mexico City that invited one artist from each state in America to represent the arts,” she says. “And when they chose me as North Carolina’s artist, I was so proud.” The day’s event has ended. The confused and curious people who arrived with a gorgeous painting in one hand are leaving with a bag full of groceries and COVID supplies in the other. No one is more pleased than Torres-Weiner. It is obvious that her day of service has regenerated her, guaranteeing that she will soon find another way to put her art into action to serve her community. What else can an artivist do but create and serve? “It’s my food, it’s my air,” she says. “It is my Christmas.” OH Wiley Cash and his photographer wife, Mallory, live in Wilmington, N.C. His latest novel, The Last Ballad, is available wherever books are sold. O.Henry 75
Christmas on Tate It’s cozy, over the top and perfectly holly jolly By Cynthia Adams • Photographs by Amy Freeman 76 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
G
rumps and Grinches beware. To enter Katrina and Nat Hayes’ College Hill bungalow is to have a holiday conversion experience — as in peace and joy simultaneously coursing through your veins like some bubbling, burbling Christmas ornament. And as if you needed a warning, “Forever Christmas Eve” is mounted — year-round — above the front door. By early November, every room in this 1905-built, historic home shimmers and glimmers with a Christmas spirit passed on to the Hayeses by both of their families. “At Christmas time it’s very festive,” Katrina says. “It’s a happy house!” Katrina’s mother, Mickey Guilford, planted the seed in her. “My mom’s favorite holiday is Christmas,” she says. “My birthday’s in December and hers is in November, so we combine it all!” Her mom — who owns 121 collectible Santa Clauses — has four trees. Katrina decorates seven. “Eight, if you count the tiny one in the bathroom,” she adds. Nat brought his own collection of Christmas trees when they got married in 2017, along with several boxes of ornaments his mother passed on to him. “We’re surrounded by family,” Katrina says happily. And by Christmases past and present. The preparations, which take a week to complete, began last year on November 1. “Nat brings the boxes in from storage,” says Katrina, “and I always make sure I have everything up and Christmas-ized by Thanksgiving.” That’s when family members exchange ornaments. Long before Christmas morning when they open gifts, Katrina and Nat will have dined each day for two months using Christmas cocktail glasses and two sets of Christmas china The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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— one formal and one everyday. “It’s a joyful time,” Katrina sighs. But it’s not all about them: “We had 60-plus people at our ‘Christmas on Tate’ event in 2019,” says Katrina. The couple asks guests to contribute food for the Spartan pantry, which assists families in the area. “There’s a lot of hunger and homelessness,” she says. This year, given the constraints of a pandemic, their gathering will be smaller, outside and mask-required. The couple purchased the Tate Street charmer in July of 2016. Though it had been restored, “The people who owned it didn’t do much,” says Katrina. Still, she says, “When we were looking at the house from outside, I turned to my husband and said, ‘I love this house.’” Nat countered, “You have to see it all before you fall in love.” But when she stepped inside, Katrina said she had to have it. “My husband said, ‘You don’t even know!’ But I did.” The couple had searched for a year, touring historic homes. They wanted to be near downtown. They wanted character. They wanted soul, Katrina says. The house had original floors upstairs and new flooring down-
78 O.Henry
stairs, a wide front porch and even a back porch. Original fireplaces and modern conveniences, including a renovated kitchen, were certainly a plus. And the master bedroom had a stained-glass eyebrow window featuring a yellow rose, illuminated with a pull-down light. That window slayed Katrina. “Everything we looked at that was historic had short ceilings (due to attics converted into second floors) and no central air conditioning. Just window units,” she laments. The sellers were retired and ready to move on. One day Katrina got a call: “The sellers said new price! After many houses, I thought, I was done,” Katrina adds. Fittingly, for a Christmas house, the house had its own sort of rebirth. According to Mike Cowhig, a city planner who works with historic neighborhoods and oversees the Historic Preservation Commission, the bungalow was brought back from the brink. “It was one of the houses the city bought in the 1980s as part of the redevelopment program and was restored then,” Cowhig says. At the time, College Hill became Greensboro’s first historic district. “It was supposedly featured in Better Homes and Gardens back in the day.” It checked all the boxes, Katrina says. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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On Christmas morning, four stockings get filled and hung with care by every fireplace, for family and pets alike, including their two dogs, Bo and Perki. Katrina, who with her mom’s help bedecked her State Street skin care salon with diaphanous bows, also collects shoes, jewelry and all things leopard. (There will be a touch of leopard on her Christmas stockings this year.) The couple’s favorite room is the “bar room” where they enjoy cocktails. They creatively reuse brightly colored Crown Royal felt bags as gift bags beneath the bar room tree. Many of them came from Katrina’s late father, Gil Guilford, who collected them over a lifetime. A portrait of Nat’s grandfather, who became chairman and president of Carolina Steel, presides over the room’s corner fireplace. “He’s Nathanael Hayes Sr.,” says Katrina. “Nat (his namesake) is the third.” Nat, a certified professional accountant, has a Carolina sports-theme tree in a secondfloor study Katrina calls a “man cave.” There he displays a beer can collection begun when he was a kid. “He would pick them up while mowing yards.” Nat fashioned shelving from barn wood retrieved from his family’s farm in Summerfield. The Hayes’ most treasured tree, though, is in the main room. “The big tree has all our ‘memories’ on it — and I love the leopard touches.” While the rule used to be no lights turned on till after Thanksgiving, Katrina has decided to challenge that in 2020. We could use a bit of extra light and cheer, she decided. In her book, Joyful, designer and blogger Ingrid Fetell Lee wrote that there is “a quiet hope that the world contains a bit of magic.” Surely that applies to Tate Street. And with more than a little hope, the lights will go on early. OH Cynthia Adams is a contributing editor of O.Henry with an embarrassing number of Christmas trees.
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December 2020 Santa and S’more!
12/
1-5
Although conscientious effort is made to provide accurate and up-to-date information, all events are subject to change and errors can occur! Please call to verify times, costs, status and location before planning or attending an event.
December 1—January 3
EXPERIENCE THE LIGHTS FANTASTIC. “Winter Wonderlights,” an indoor/outdoor holiday light display for all ages. Tickets: $16/adult; $15/children and seniors. The Greensboro Science Center, 4301 Lawndale Dr., Greensboro. Info: (336) 288-3769 or greensboroscience.org.
December 1—January 31
DOWNTOWN WINTER WONDERLAND. Enjoy outdoor ice-skating, curling and more at Piedmont Winterfest. Closed for skating most Tuesdays. SouthEnd, 123 W. Lewis St., Greensboro. Info: piedmontwinterfest.com.
December 1—27
SINGING TREES. Daily until 11 p.m. The “Sonic Forest” is an interactive, multisensory family experience featuring 16 electronic holiday trees. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. at Hamburger Square, Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org.
December 1—5
SANTA AND S’MORE! 4–7 p.m. Santa plus s’mores by the fire equals an unforgettable holiday experience. Tickets: $25 per family; includes digital photography. Summerfield Farms, 3203 Pleasant Ridge Rd.,
98 O.Henry
Stike a pose with Santa
12/
5-20
Summerfield. Info: (336) 643-2006 or summerfieldfarms.com.
December 1
BRUSH UP ON YOUR HISTORY. 6—7 p.m. Greensboro History Museum presents three free webinars on a variety of topics via their website. Info: greensborohistory.org
Balloon Regatta
12/
12-13
Info: greensboroballet.org. À LA ADVENT. 7:30 p.m. “Delicacies from a World of Music, an Advent Concert for All,” is a part of the À la carte concert series. Programs will be live-streamed on YouTube. Limited seating available. Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, 607 N. Green St., Greensboro. Info: alcgreensboro.com.
December 3—5
Dec 5 & 12; 19 & 26
December 4—5
Dec 5 & 6, 12 & 13, 18—20
LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION! UNCG Theatre presents on-demand streaming of the Fall M.F.A. Director Candidate’s one-act plays. Info: (336) 3344392 or vpa.uncg.edu. LIGHT THE NIGHT. 6—9 p.m. Shop, dine and stroll in the open downtown streets where, for two nights only, you can enjoy holiday entertainment and a dazzling laser light show on the Elm/Martin Luther King Jr. parking lot wall. Info: downtowngreensboro.org.
December 5
POSI-TEA-VLY FESTIVE. 1–5 p.m. Greensboro Ballet’s “Tea with Clara” is strictly to-go this year. Preorder for this pick-up only event. Greensboro Cultural Center, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greensboroballet.org. NUTCRACKER BOUTIQUE. 1–5 p.m. Greensboro Ballet’s socially-distanced Nutcracker Boutique. Free but reserve your spot to receive a special discount coupon. Greensboro Cultural Center, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro.
ARM AND HAMMER. 10 a.m. — 4:30 p.m. Free blacksmithing demo. High Point Museum’s Historical Park,1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: (336) 885-1859 or highpointmuseum.org.
STRIKE A POSE WITH SANTA. 11 a.m. — 2 p.m. (Saturday and Sunday); 2–5 p.m. (Friday, December 18). Bring a camera for your visit with Santa. Reservations required. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene Street. Info: downtowngreensboro.org.
December 6
48th ANNUAL HOLIDAY OPEN HOUSE. 1–4 p.m. Take-home craft kits, strolling carolers, candledipping, new outdoor exhibits and, yes, the man of iron, the blacksmith, will be there. Limited appointments available to visit Santa Claus in the Little Red Schoolhouse. Reservations required. High Point Museum’s Historical Park, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: (336) 885-1859 or highpointmuseum.org. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Arts Calendar December 6—February 7 WINTER SHOW. Annual show features 400 works by emerging and established artists from across the state. Paintings, sculpture, photography, ceramics, jewelry, wood and fiber works — all available for sale (and tax-free on opening day). GreenHill Center for North Carolina Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: GreenHillNC.org.
December 8
NOON AT THE ’SPOON. Noon until 12:20 p.m. Explore a new exhibit each month at WAM during one third of your lunch hour. Second Tuesday of each month; free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: (336) 334-5770 or weatherspoon.uncg.edu.
December 12—13
DRIVE-THRU CHRISTMAS. Noon until 4 p.m. Balloon regatta featuring 17 of Greensboro’s most famous parade balloons, plus live entertainment. Begins at the Greensboro Children’s Museum and runs down Church Street to the Depot. Info: downtowngreensboro.org.
December 18—20
THE NUTCRACKER DRIVE-IN. 4–7 p.m. A season favorite, Greensboro Ballet’s The Nutcracker on the big (drive-in) screen. Tickets: $60 per vehicle.
Greensboro Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: (336) 885-1859 or greensboroballet.org.
December 19
GHOSTLIGHT CONCERT. Ghostlights with Quilla and Molly McGinn and Friends. Limited to 25 guests. Ticket includes admission, one concessions item and one beverage. The Carolina Theatre of Greensboro, 310 S Greene St, Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com. SCOTTISH FLAIR. 10 a.m. — 4 p.m. Scottish Traditions 18th Century Faire features a Celtic New Year’s Eve (Hogmanay) celebration with food, music and demonstrations. Free. Reservations required. The High Point Museum’s Historical Park,1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: (336) 885-1859 or highpointmuseum.org.
WEEKLY HAPPENINGS Wednesdays
WINE-DOWN AT DOUBLE OAKS. 5–8 p.m. Pizza, beer, wine and cigars to help patrons through the rest of the workweek. Pick up or dine-in (reservations recommended). Double Oaks Bed & Breakfast 204 N. Mendenhall St., Greensboro. Info: (336) 7639821 or double-oaks.com.
Have yourself a shameless holiday!
Saturdays
BACK IN TIME. 10 a.m. — 4:30 p.m. Step back in time and into the history of the Piedmont. Free admission. High Point Museum’s Historical Park,1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: (336) 885-1859 or highpointmuseum.org.
Sundays
MIMOSAS AND MORE. 9 a.m. — 2 p.m. Grinder Cafe and Double Oaks team up each week for brunch and bubbly. Reservations recommended. Double Oaks Bed & Breakfast, 204 N. Mendenhall St., Greensboro. Info: (336) 763-9821 or double-oaks.com. OPUS CONCERT SERIES. 6 p.m. Creative Greensboro streams three live concerts. The lineup: Phillharmonia of Greensboro (12/6), Lorena Guillen Tango Ensemble and Sheila Star Production (12/13) and the Greensboro Concert Band (12/20). Info: facebook.com/creativegreensboro.
To add an event, email us at
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ONE MONTH PRIOR TO THE EVENT.
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O.Henry 101
Arts & Culture
Spiritual Java is a collection of sermons and blogs designed to inspire even the most spiritually hesitant. Written by Chip Bristol (withoutacollar.com) Cover art by Dawn Ashby (NewDawningArt.com)
Available on Amazon
As seen in: Biltmore House, Asheville Greensboro News & Record
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Open Studio Sale • December 12th • 1-5 CONNIE P. LOGAN - ARTIST/TEACHER
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102 O.Henry
Resinate Art The Original Representational Epoxy Artist ARTIST Carol Kaminski • HOURS by appointment only RESIN classes available 4912 Hackamore Rd, Greensboro, 27410 704-608-9664 • www.ResinateArt.com
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HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS 710 DOVER ROAD
Move today and enjoy all this home has to offer! Spacious rooms and two story foyer and lovely staircase. Hardwood floors, Private Living Room, open Den with Fireplace, and Master suite on main level. Dining Room opens to a beautiful patio. Private backyard beautifully landscaped with fountain. Kitchen has Stainless steel appliances, granite, large Island and opens to the Keeping Room/Breakfast Room with fireplace. Covered Porches connect the sunroom to the two car garage with upper level bonus room. Second floor has four more bedrooms with ensuite baths, permanent stairs to the attic and a special nook overlooking the foyer. Walk to GCC. $7,500 credit in closing costs to buyer.
Mitzie.Weatherly@allentate.com | 336.314.5500 The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Mitzie Weatherly O.Henry 103
3911 BRASS CANNON COURT in Carlson Farms
Life & Home
Beautiful custom home overlooking Greensboro Country Club golf course. 4 bed. 3 1/2 baths. 10’ ceilings down and 9’ up. Downstairs master suite. Large rooms. Covered porch w fireplace. 2 patio areas. 3 car garage. Irrigation system. Generator. Beautiful architectural details.
$787,000
Sally Millikin
336.337.7230 Sally.millikin@trmhomes.com
shops • service • food • farms
“I couldn’t be happier with my renters, or my rental income” Brantley White
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Exp 12/31/2020
Burkely Rental Homes client
There are times when it’s smarter to lease than to sell your home. Call me when you think you’re there! I’ll be pleased to discuss how Burkely Rental Homes can help you.
104 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 105
modern furniture made locally
Specializing in doggie happiness
WE OFFER: DOG DAYCARE • SLEEPOVERS • GROOMING • WEBCAMS
705 Battleground Ave.
511 S Elm St. | Greensboro NC 27406 | 336.370.1050 areamod.com
Lakeshia T. Reid, The Cause of Miracles (The Fool), 2020, oil on canvas, 40x30
www.DogDaysGreensboro.com
National Award Winning Ring
PUBLIC OPENING | Sunday, December 6 | 1:00 – 6:00 PM Presenting painting, sculpture, photography, ceramics, jewelry, wood, glass and fiber works for purchase in GreenHill’s spacious 5000 square foot Gallery.
Details and a digital catalog at GreenHillNC.org
121-A WEST MCGEE ST. GREENSBORO, NC 27401 WWW.JACOBRAYMONDJEWELRY.COM | 336.763.9569
DOWNTOWNGREENSBORO.ORG
200 N. Davie Street | Downtown Greensboro
COME. SIT. HEAL. We strive to provide complete care for our patients. Preventive & Wellness Care • Hospitalization Medicine / Surgery • Dentistry • Laser Therapy • And more ...
Dr. John Wehe | Dr. Tyler Perkins 120 W. Smith Street • Greensboro NC | 336.338.1840
www .do w n to w n gre e n s bo ro an i m al h o s pi tal.com
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DOWNTOWNGREENSBORO.ORG
513 s elm st , greensboro 336.265.8628 www.vivid-interiors.com
O.Henry 107
Business & Services
GOOD HEALTH, FAMILY, JOB, FRIENDS, RESPECTFUL WORK PLACE, RELIGION, FREEDOM TO WORK, HEALTHY FAMILY, FREEDOM TO WORSHIP, GREAT COMMUNITY, WONDERFUL NEIGHBORS, WORK FAMILY, The Staff at Hanes Lineberry, Guilford Memorial Park and BEAUTIFUL GRANDDAUGHTERS, Westminster Gardens are thankful for their many wonderful blessings. CHOCOLATE, VETERANS, WINE, AWESOME We wish you and yours the very best during this holiday season. HUSBAND, GOD’S PROMISES, WARM SWEATERS, BOOKS AND BOOK CLUBS, TEACHERS, FIRST RESPONDERS, MOUNTAINS 336.272.5157 www.haneslineberryfuneralhomes.com
515 N. Elm St. | Greensboro, NC 27401
2-J HOME IMPROVEMENT
• Painting • Pressure Washing • Carpentry • Hardwood Flooring • Tile Installation • Wallpaper Removal • & More! JOE DAAS
(336) 549-0854 Licensed and Insured
6000 Gate City Blvd. | Greensboro, NC 27407
ASHMORE
RARE COINS & METALS Since 1987
• 30+ years as a major dealer of Gold, Silver, and Coins • Most respected local dealer for appraising and buying Coin Collections, Gold, Silver, Diamond Jewelry and Sterling Flatware • Investment Gold, Silver, & Platinum Bullion
Visit us: www.ashmore.com or call 336-617-7537 5725 W. Friendly Ave. Ste 112 • Greensboro, NC 27410 Across the street from the entrance to Guilford College
Practicing Commercial Real Estate by the Golden Rule Bill Strickland, CCIM Commercial Real Estate Broker/REALTOR 336.369.5974 | bstrickland@bipinc.com
www.bipinc.com 108 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
to knit
1614-C WEST FRIENDLY AVENUE GREENSBORO, NC 27403 336-272-2032 stitchpoint@att.net MONDAY-FRIDAY: 10:00-6:00 SATURDAY: 10:00-4:00
Sub-Zero, the preservation specialist. Wolf, the cooking specialist. You’ll find them only at your local kitchen specialist.
SHOP LOCAL FOR BEST PRICES We Service What We Sell & Offer Personal Attention 336-854-9222 • www.HartApplianceCenter.com
ANTI-AGING SYSTEM CE FERULIC: VISIBLY IMPROVES SKIN FIRMNESS
2201 Patterson Street, Greensboro, NC (2 Blocks from the Coliseum) Mon. - Fri.: 9:30am - 5:30 pm Sat. 10 am - 2 pm • Closed Sunday
Business & Services
Tis the Season
You won’t find them in ordinary kitchens. Or at ordinary stores.
Comprehensive and Attentive Care
Now Available at
Make Your Smile Merry and Bright
$345 MSRP VALUE $481
Give the Gift of Great Skin! Located at Friendly Center next door to Barnes and Noble Temporary Hours: Tue. - Sat. 10am-6pm • 336-294-3223
Gill Family Dentistry Serving the Triad Area
306 Muirs Chapel Rd., STE C | Greensboro, NC 27410
GillDentistryTriad.com 336.299.1379
Visit our new website… shereesinatural.com for special discounts on SkinCeuticals and brow waxing.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 109
Explore Your True Style TIME TO REFRESH YOUR WINTER WARDROBE!
Dover Square
NEW ITEMS ARRIVING DAILY
Floral Design • Delivery Service Home Décor & Gifts Weddings & Special Events
Making holiday cloches for your enjoyment! Thank you for your business and continued support.
1616 Battleground Avenue, Suite D-1 Greensboro, NC 27408
336.691.0051
shop@randymcmanusdesigns.com
www.randymcmanusdesigns.com
1616-G Battleground Ave | Dover Square 336.617.7941 10am-5:30pm Mon.-Sat. www.bibsandkidsboutique.com
Schedule an appointment to enjoy personal one on one styling to put together your winter wardrobe
Simply Meg’s SAVVY STYLE. PURELY PERSONAL.
1616-H Battleground Ave Dover Square 336.272.2555 www.simplymegsboutique.com
Dover Square
Happy Holidays TO ALL!
Irving Park
LADIES CLOTHING, GIFTS, BABY, JEWELRY, GIFTS FOR THE HOME, TABLEWARE, DELICIOUS FOOD
1738 Battleground Ave • Irving Park Plaza Shopping Center • Greensboro, NC • (336) 273-3566
Irving
PARK Shopping is the best therapy To advertise here call 336-617-0090 The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 111
O.Henry Ending
The Rebel in Me By David Claude Bailey
Whenever, as a teenager,
I would do something that was beyond stupid, as in outright illegal, like seeing if our Pontiac Bonneville would really go 120 mph with my tattletale sister in the car, my dearly departed father would let out a long sigh and say, “Son, do you have some sort of predilection for institutional food?”
This was characteristic of my old man’s cutting sense of humor, but yes, Dad, I have, in fact, developed a penchant for institutional food over the years. Despite my winning the N.C. Press Award for writing about fancy, white-tablecloth dining in the Triad, a smorgasbord of comfort food makes me lick my lips just by naming them: mac’n’cheese, scooped upon request from the corner of the hotel pan where it gets those exquisite crusty edges all caramelized into gooey bits; chicken-fried steak painted with a layer of creamy milk gravy; turkey with gravy and cranberry sauce, served out of the holiday season; meatloaf featuring tangy notes of sage from the breakfast sausage blended into it, covered with fire-engine-red chili sauce; salads — Watergate, Waldorf, Greek and tomato-aspic; and — my oh my, pie: goopy coconut-cream pie or tart Key-lime pie made from sweetened condensed milk. Unlike many kids, my introduction to institutional food was a fortunate one, at South End School in Reidsville where the servers (who were also the cooks) pitied the skinny little boy in front of them with his big brown eyes fixed on the sizzling, chicken-fried steak. We quickly got to know each other on a first-name basis and they would always give me generous servings. “David,” the sweet voice of the server would whisper alluringly, “Wouldn’t you like a little leftover dish of yesterday’s spaghetti-andmeat-ball casserole? We saved some just for you.” I’ve also had some terrible institutional food, perhaps the worst at Boy Scout camp, where you could hoist your wiggling serving of cold grits onto the end of your fork and heave it across the table. But growing up in the food desert of Reidsville, I relished trips to Greensboro
112 O.Henry
confession
and Charlotte, which introduced me to the wider world of exotic cafeteria food, such as the chicken chow mein served with crispy noodles drowned in soy sauce at Greensboro’s downtown S&W Cafeteria near Belk. I never served in the military, but I sure have been served some superb food by various branches of the armed forces: incredible picnic fare at Camp Lejeune on a Boy Scout Jamboree; fabulous ovenfried potatoes and roast beef on a Navy ship while I was a reporter covering missile launches from submarines at sea; hearty, stick-to-the-ribs fare at Parris Island, where I followed a Marine recruit through basic training; and a first-rate steak dinner I ate in the officers’ mess aboard an aircraft carrier on a shakedown cruise. Perhaps the best institutional food I ever had was when I taught at Salem Academy, meals cooked with love and devotion by Helen Sowers. Her perfectly crisp fried chicken might just have been enhanced by Salem’s rule that you had to eat it with a knife and fork, the same way you were supposed to eat potato chips. (You could eat a hot dog with your hands, but several teachers insisted on cutting theirs in two first.) Mrs. Sowers’ desserts were legendary: chess pie that made me miss my mother; pound cake laced with so much butter its aroma beckoned you to take a bite before you finished your meal; and Hello Dollies, made devilishly rich with coconut, chocolate, condensed milk, pecans, graham crackers and who knows what else. My most recent love affair with institutional food was at Moses H. Cone Memorial Hospital, where I ate nearly every weekday for years since it was across the street from where I worked at Pace Communications. This puzzled some of my colleagues who typecast me as a gourmet food-snob, a pose I’d adopt when I wrote about the restaurants of Rome, Paris and New York for Sky magazine. But I would also wax rhapsodically about pit-cooked barbecue or Cincinnati chili I found in airport cafes. So I guess Dad’s words were both prophetic and prescriptive. I have, in fact, developed a predilection for institutional food. And it’s probably by his counsel that the institutions where I’ve enjoyed them have not been behind lock and key. At least so far. Thanks, Dad. OH David Claude Bailey is a contributing editor for O.Henry magazine The Art & Soul of Greensboro
ILLUSTRATION BY HARRY BLAIR
A gourmet’s shameless
William Mangum FINE ART
Kaleidoscope 48” x 48” Acrylic on Canvas
Moonrise
On the Horizon
Open by Appointment for Private Showings
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February Dawn
Beautiful Art for the Home and Office
ARTIST STUDIO 336.379.9200 • 303 West Smith Street • Greensboro, NC Contact: joy@williammangum.com • williammangum.com