December O.Henry 2024

Katie Keeps Selling

Topics Covered:

• City Council news

• City project updates

• Arts and entertainment

• Job postings

• Road closures

• And more!

A new perspective on your future

Now is the time to start planning for a future filled with opportunities to live, learn and grow at Friends Homes.

With maintenance and other everyday chores taken care of, you’ll be free to enjoy an active, engaging life. Our community o ers a refreshing, whole-person approach to wellness that will give you more options for activities, classes and events that interest you. Plus, our welcoming, supportive culture will make it easy to form new friendships and feel right at home.

But enjoying a future at Friends Homes means joining our waiting list today! Register now to get priority access to available apartments, townhomes, and cottages. Call or visit us online to learn more and to sign up.

December 2024

FEATURES

49 Winter Solstice Poem by Debra Kaufman

50 The Sweet Life of Lindsay Emery By Cynthia Adams On Suite One Studio and hand-making a life full of everyday beauty

58 Gimme Some Sugar By Jasmine Comer Sweet holiday treats to swap or gift

64 Christmas with Dylan By Bland Simpson

68 Gag Gifts

Tales of the weirdest, wildest and worst gifts ever

72 From Borough to Boro By Cassie Bustamante  . . . And back again

85 December Almanac By Ashley Walshe

DEPARTMENTS

11 Chaos Theory By Cassie Bustamante

15 Simple Life By Jim Dodson 18 Sazerac

23 Tea Leaf Astrologer By Zora Stellanova

25 Life’s Funny By Maria Johnson

29 The Omnivorous Reader By Anne Blythe

33 Botanicus By Ross Howell Jr.

37 Home Grown By Cynthia Adams

41 Birdwatch By Susan Campbell

43 Wandering Billy By Billy Ingram

94 Events Calendar

117 GreenScene

120 O.Henry Ending By Cassie Bustamante

Cover photograph by betsy blake

photograph this page by a my Freeman

This holiday we celebrate 20 years of the best in eye wear, the greatest clients and enduring friendship!

Cheers to 2025 and many more years of keeping it shiny and bright!

With enormous love and gratitude, Becky, Marti & John

Fine Eyewear by Appointment

Fine Eyewear, Artwork and Jewelry

327 South Elm | Greensboro

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Fine Eyewear by Appointment

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336.274.1278 | TheViewOnElm.com

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327 South Elm | Greensboro

327 South Elm | Greensboro

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Becky Causey, Licensed Optician Tis the season to be grateful!

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Volume 14, No. 12

“I have a fancy that every city has a voice.” www.ohenrymag.com

PUBLISHER David Woronoff david@thepilot.com

Andie Rose, Creative Director andiesouthernpines@gmail.com

Cassie Bustamante, Editor cassie@ohenrymag.com

Jim Dodson, Editor at Large jwdauthor@gmail.com

Keith Borshak, Senior Designer

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS

Cynthia Adams, David Claude Bailey, Maria Johnson

CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS

Betsy Blake, Lynn Donovan, Amy Freeman, Bert VanderVeen, Mark Wagoner

CONTRIBUTORS

Harry Blair, Anne Blythe, Susan Campbell, Jasmine Comer, Ross Howell Jr., Billy Ingram, Gerry O’Neill, Liza Roberts, Stephen E. Smith, Zora Stellanova, Ashley Walshe, Amberly Glitz Weber,

ADVERTISING SALES

Lisa Allen

336.210.6921 • lisa@ohenrymag.com

Amy Grove

336.456.0827 • amy@ohenrymag.com

Brad Beard, Graphic Designer

Jennifer Bunting, Advertising Coordinator ohenrymag@ohenrymag.com

Henry Hogan, Finance Director 910.693.2497

Darlene Stark, Subscriptions & Circulation Director 910.693.2488

OWNERS

Jack Andrews, Frank Daniels III, David Woronoff In memoriam Frank Daniels Jr.

All Aboard!

A magical ride on the Polar Express

By Cassie Bustama Nte

The rain pelts us sideways as we stand under a flimsy Ikea umbrella, not meant to withstand North-Pole-in-the-Piedmont winds — or a light breeze, for that matter. I huddle in closely to Chris as our youngest, 5-year-old Wilder, nestles against our legs. Wilder’s rosy cheeks match his cherry-red Nikes and the Santa-suits on his gray fleece pajama pants, which are sopping wet. My own red-and-white, buffalo-check flannel bottoms are also drenched. Chris is high and dry above the waist, thanks to a red raincoat, but he clearly didn’t embrace the Polar Express spirit as Wilder and I did by donning holiday sleepwear. Instead, he wears the fabric of our city — denim. Never a great choice in a rainstorm, but when we’d left the house an hour ago, only a soft drizzle was falling.

A couple of months earlier when I’d booked the Polar Express train ride at the N.C. Transportation Museum in Spencer, it had seemed like a great idea. With two jaded teenagers in the house who snicker at Santa, it’s getting harder and harder for me to conjure up holiday magic each year, even for the little one. In the days leading up to our North Pole excursion, we’d repeatedly read Chris Van Allsburg’s book. Now, “Seeing is believing” keeps echoing in my mind, reminding me why I am here. But standing amid strangers in the mud and muck as we await the arrival of our train, what I’m seeing is anything but magical. And

then I remember the rest of the passage: “Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can’t see.”

“Choooo-choooooo . . . ” the train pulls up to our platform, disrupting my thoughts. The shivering crowd of families, matching pajama sets clinging damply to their bodies, erupts into cheers. Wilder’s face, along with those of the other young children surrounding us, finally begins to glow with excitement. Meanwhile, parents, grandparents and adults alike are thinking how magical a warm and dry passenger car is going to be.

“All aboard!” A behatted conductor yells as a boy dressed in jammies joins him on the platform to act out the late-night boarding scene from the book. Meanwhile the adults in the crowd of cold, wet excursionists await entrance. I hear mutters of what I’m thinking: “Just let us on the train!”

Finally, the gates open. A collective sigh of relief echoes through the cabin as we all find our seats. Along each side of the interior, garlands of popcorn and beads, red mug ornaments and greenery glisten against strings of lights. On each seat sits a golden ticket. Wide-eyed, Wilder holds his up: “A real golden ticket!”

Soon, an attendant asks for our tickets. I reflexively pull my iPhone from my pocket to show our three Etix vouchers. Big, fat, nonbelieving adult mistake. Wilder slaps his forehead. “Mom, not those!” The smiling agent rescues me and repeats: “May I see your tickets,” she says, enunciating that last word as it clicks into place. Wilder, to the rescue, proudly hands it to her.

She goes to town with a paper punch, handing our tickets back, each one featuring the letter “B” cut into it. I lean into Wilder and whisper, “For ‘believe.’” He peers at me through the holes of his ticket, his blue eyes sparkling with wonder.

The train roars to life, chug-chugging along the track. Through its speakers, “Hot Chocolate” begins to sound — Hot! Hot! Ooh, we got it! — as the train’s chefs and attendants perform

The Artof Living

MEET CARL HEIN AND KARL STAUBER

As highly skilled woodworkers, Carl and Karl love making things—furniture, bowls, jewelry, and more. Now, thanks to their efforts to bring a new fully-equipped and stand-alone woodshop to Arbor Acres, the men have a dedicated place to work and share with other residents. “We have a full collection of high-quality tools,” says Karl. “And safety is a key feature,” Carl adds, referring to detailed training sessions. Arbor Acres is happy to continue fulfilling the visions of our residents, who continue to make this place alive with their creative energy.

a lively dance in the aisle, dispensing chunky, chocolate-chip cookies and cups of steaming hot cocoa.

While Wilder nibbles, breaking off bits with the biggest hunks of chocolate first, the gentle voice of a grandfatherly narrator begins reading the book that inspired this ride. A few attendants, holding the largest copies I’ve ever seen, walk up and down the aisle so that everyone can see the illustrations. Though he’s seen the pages a million times, Wilder cranes his neck for a good look, savoring every moment of his personal Polar Express ride.

As the train eases to a crawl into “The North Pole,” Wilder plasters his face to the window. I stop myself from ruining the magic by scolding him for fingerprints on the glass. His gaze is locked on an oversized Santa, whose downy beard billows in the wind. And then Santa raises his hand into the air. In it, a sleigh bell. “The first gift of Christmas!” he proclaims before handing it to the pajamaed boy we saw earlier on the platform.

With a basket full of sleigh bells, Santa boards our train car and makes his way down the aisle, handing one to every passenger as the jingling slowly sweeps from front of the car to the rear. Seated in the very back, Wilder’s anticipation mirrors the chiming crescendo. With a white-gloved hand, Santa gently places the very last sleigh bell in my little boy’s clammy palm with a “Merry Christmas.” Words escape Wilder, who, for the next minute, just stares in wonder at the treasure in his grasp.

“Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe,” the book concludes. And as our ride ends and we prepare to face the bitter rain, I put my bell in my pocket and take Wilder’s hand in mine. While I came here on a mission to give Wilder something to believe in, I am leaving with more than that. I’m carrying the knowledge that Santa’s spirit and magic are alive and well in this world. Dare I say, I believe. OH

Cassie Bustamante is editor of O.Henry magazine.

THIS YEAR, STIR UP SOME NEW HOLIDAY MEMORIES.

All throughout November and December, you’ll find holiday cheer in great abundance everywhere you turn in Alamance County. Picture postcard sights, sounds and celebrations immerse you in a magical backdrop that transports you to another place and time. Take in holiday concerts and an old-fashioned Victorian Christmas filled with entertainment, holiday treats, and traditions. Discover that perfect gift, bauble or decoration. And see the enchantment unfold before your eyes.

Christmas by Candlelight: 12/5

Mebane Christmas Parade: 12/6

German Christmas: 12/7

Historic Glencoe: A Wartime Christmas: 12/7

Big Band Christmas: 12/13

You’ll find small surprises lead to big memories in Alamance County.

Filament Coffee

Christmas Wishes Peace on Earth and pickup trucks

By Jim DoDsoN

Late last summer, my wife Wendy

asked what I want for Christmas this year. She’s a woman who likes to plan ahead.

Figuring peace on Earth and good will toward men were probably not in the cards, a couple options came to mind.

“A wheelbarrow and a new Chevy pickup truck.”

She laughed.

“You’ve wanted a new pickup truck for almost as long as I’ve known you,” she said. “I’m not sure either would fit under the Christmas tree.”

She was right, of course. “But if I had a new Chevy pickup truck,” I pointed out, “we could bring home a really big Christmas tree and all kinds of other great stuff.”

“I thought we agreed to start getting rid of stuff we no longer need or want,” she reminded me. “Not bringing more home.”

She was right about that, too. We are de-stuffing our house right and left these days. But an old dude’s perpetual dream of owning a new Chevy pickup truck doesn’t go away easily.

So, I asked what she wanted for Christmas this year.

“I’d like to go to a very nice hotel by myself for a night — and just do nothing,” she said.

I’ll admit, this surprised me, but it shouldn’t have.

Wendy is the most organized, generous, and busiest person I know.

She runs her own custom baking business, keeps the family

finances, and does the bookkeeping for both our businesses. She also does most of the grocery shopping, regularly gives blood and platelets, and somehow keeps up with the secret adventures of our far-flung children. Someone is always asking her to do something — volunteer to make pies for church suppers or donate ten dozen exquisite hand-painted cookies for a charity fundraiser. Family, friends and neighbors routinely turn to her for advice on a range of subjects, and then there’s her egg-headed husband who can never find where he left his car keys, eyeglasses, lucky golf cap or favorite ink pens. Somehow, she can find these vital items within seconds — just one of her many superpowers.

That’s a lot of stuff to keep up with, I grant you.

Then there was her sweet mom, Miss Jan, who resided at a lovely assisted care facility in town but spent every weekend at our house. With her dementia growing more apparent by the month, Wendy’s focus on her mom’s comfort and needs ramped up dramatically. Daily visits and doctor appointments filled her calendar, which also included lunches at Jan’s favorite restaurants, and bringing her mom clean clothes and delicious dinners every evening, even as Jan’s appetite began to ebb.

No wonder she fantasized about a quiet night alone at a nice hotel.

“How about two or three nights at the Willcox Hotel for our anniversary?” I proposed as the date approached. The Willcox is in Aiken, South Carolina. It’s our favorite hotel, charmingly quaint, blissfully peaceful and located a mile from our favorite golf course.

She loved the idea and promptly booked us a nice long weekend. She even arranged for Jan’s kind caregiver to look in on her every day while we were gone.

Ironically, our anniversary trip to the Willcox didn’t come off because we couldn’t find someone to look after our three dogs and two cats for the weekend. It was the heart of the summer vacation season, which meant every kennel in town had been booked solid for weeks.

So much for a needed break.

Suddenly, it was middle autumn and life was speeding up dramatically. Wendy was busy baking for the larger crowds at the weekend farmers market where she sells her spectacular baked goods, and I was finishing revisions of my book on the Great Wagon Road, scheduled for a spring publication, and starting a new Substack column.

More importantly, Miss Jan’s condition was worsening by the week. Her physician advised us that she would probably be gone by Christmas.

Early on the morning of November 1, the eve of All Saints’ Day across the world, Jan quietly passed away.

Suddenly, what either of us wanted for Christmas was completely irrelevant.

Losing a beloved parent puts life in a different perspective. In

Jan’s case, her quiet passing brought an end to suffering from an insidious disease that cruelly robs its victims of speech and memory. What’s left is a hole in the heart that can never be filled.

Jan’s passing also reminded us that we’re at a stage of life where material things no longer hold much magic. There’s really nothing more we need or want. Except more time with each other.

For Dame Wendy, the simple pleasure of the holiday is finding the perfect live Christmas tree, putting on holiday music, cooking for family and friends and doing small things that make Christmas feel special. Last year, she gave me a sensational pair of wool socks and a nifty garden shovel. I gave her a nice, fuzzy sweater and tickets to a concert at the Tanger Center, along with a jumbo box of Milk Duds, her favorite forbidden pleasure.

This year, I plan to give my amazingly busy wife two nights at the luxury hotel a few miles from our house, where she can put her feet up, drink very good wine, eat Milk Duds to her heart’s content and maybe find peace and joy in doing absolutely nothing. Miss Jan would wholeheartedly approve.

As for me, well, forget the Chevy pickup truck for now. But I figure the wheelbarrow is a cinch to show up beneath the tree. OH

Jim Dodson is the founding editor of O.Henry. Find his weekly writings and musings at jwdauthor.substack.com.

Doctors Hearing Care, better hearing is always our focus. Dr. Amy Kirkland, Au.D. and Dr. Melissa Westall, Au.D. are committed to provide each patient with an exceptional level of care and attention. Together, they have been the triad’s leaders in hearing technology for over 28 years.

No place like home for the holidays.

Happy Holidays from the TR&M Team

Alec, Ashley, Beth, Bridgette, Craig, DeAna, DJ, Elizabeth, Eric, Flip, Ginger, Helen, Hilburn, Jennie, Jessica, Jodi, Julie, Katherine, Kathryn, Katie, Kelli, Kendra, Laine, Leslie, Libba, Maggie M, Maggie T, Marti, Matthew, Meredith, Michael, Morgan, Patty, Preston, Rodney, Ryan, Sally, Shanda, Stacey, Steve, Sue Anne, Susan, Tyler, Wendi

Sazerac

"A spirited forum of Gate City food, drink, history, art, events, rumors and eccentrics worthy of our famous namesake"

(Don’t) Wait for It

Who knew that when Jimmie “JJ” Jeter’s mother took him to see a local summer production of Annie as a middle schooler, one woman’s performance would change his entire life? “The woman that played Miss Hannigan gave the performance of her life,” he recalls, almost 20 years later. Jeter, a Winston-Salem native, remembers being awestruck and overcome with a sense of knowing, “I want to do that.” The very next day, his mother reached out to the Community Theatre of Greensboro, where Jeter would become involved in various productions, even landing the lead role of Troy Bolton in High School Musical 2.

Throughout much of his off-stage high school career, Jeter performed for the North Carolina Black Repertory Company’s Teen Theatre, where then artistic director Mabel Robinson introduced him to the late Matt Bulluck, professor emeritus of drama at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. After witnessing his chops, Bulluck suggested he audition for the school. With Robinson’s guidance, Jeter prepared a monologue and was admitted to its high school program, attending there his senior year. “I had no idea what I was doing and that program completely changed my life,” he says. Following in Bulluck’s footsteps, Jeter went on to study at Juilliard, where he graduated with a fine arts degree in acting in 2016.

Now, Jeter is returning to Greensboro, this time on the Tanger Center stage, as Aaron Burr in the Broadway sensation Hamilton “This feels like a full-circle moment for me,” he says. “It is an honor to go, ‘My blood, sweat and tears are . . . right here in Greensboro. It’s still there, right there.”

While Jeter has played all seven male principal roles — on Broadway and in the Australian tour — he says that currently, he’s partial to the role he’s in. Jeter once heard the character’s originator, Leslie Odom, say that there are more Burrs than Hamiltons in the world. “There’s a lot that we recognize in him that we see in ourselves, the things that we don’t really talk about or bring up.” Portraying Burr every night, he says, holds him accountable. “Hey, we have to be honest about who we are, right?” Plus, Jeter adds, Burr has the best songs in the show, including his favorite: “The most gut-wrenching song to sing every night — ‘Wait for It.’”

And what’s Jeter willing to wait for? His order from his family’s Winston-Salem restaurant, Simply Sonya’s: mac-ncheese, collard greens and his mother’s chicken with the secret family sauce. “I can taste it now,” he says, dreaming about his upcoming jaunt through the Triad with the show. “I already told my mom, ‘Go ahead and have my order ready, please!’”

After working with Hamilton in some capacity for the last eight years, the next dream is to write and act in his own show, à la Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda. Perhaps a “zombie musical. It sounds crazy, but it’s going to be so cool!” We’ll be waiting in the wings for that show to hit the Tanger Center, but for now, we’re not throwing away our shot at catching Jeter as Aaron Burr. — Cassie Bustamante

Just One Thing

We’re nuts about the entire “Life & Times of Charles M. Schulz” exhibit at Alamance Arts in Graham. Known for his entire Peanuts gang — including that blockhead Charlie Brown, plus Snoopy, Schroeder, Linus and so many more moon-faced kiddos — Schulz published the very first Peanuts comic strip on October 2, 1950, launching what would grow into a phenomenon that includes movies, books, TV specials and a theme park. Still today, Gen Z-ers are snagging merch from Peanuts collaborations with brands such as American Eagle and Pottery Barn. Just last December, Architectural Digest asked, “Will 2024 Be the

Letters

To Cynthia Adams in response to her July 2024 column, “The Dog Who Owned Us”

I just read this article by Cynthia Adams in the July issue. Admit it brought a tear to my eye.

It called to mind this short article on a similar topic I wrote not so long ago. I would appreciate it if you would share it with Cynthia so she might enjoy.

— Jon Maxwell

An excerpt from “An Ode to Our Family’s ‘BFG,’” published in the Greensboro News & Record, September 2015:

What we failed to appreciate was how much the right dog can teach us all.

From the litter, Gavin picked an energetic white/black female that was apparently the leader, and enforcer, among her siblings. It did not take long to settle upon “Bonnie” as a suitable name for this darling wee lass. When we stopped by my brother’s house for a backyard cookout, Bonnie scrambled from Gavin’s arms and bolted across the yard to my wife Caroline’s lap, where she rested contentedly for most of the afternoon. In one fell swoop, she had effectively neutralized the only potential holdout to her being welcomed into the bosom of our family.

Year of Snoopy Girls?” While this exhibit features a replica of Schulz’s studio, you’ll also get to see character panels with insight into their personalities. Our pick? Lucy Van Pelt. We know — you’re thinking “Good grief! That bully?” But yes. She knows what she wants — piano man Schroeder and, apparently, real estate — and she’s willing to go after it. Schulz himself said, “Lucy comes from that part of me that’s capable of saying mean and sarcastic things, which is not a good trait to have, so Lucy gives me an outlet.” And don’t we all need a creative outlet for our inner Lucy? When you’re done putting the last ornament on your very own Charlie Brown Christmas tree, hitch a ride with the Red Baron to Alamance Arts to check out this exhibit that’s fun for the whole gang through January 17. Info: alamancearts.org.

Unsolicited Advice

When the Mayans brewed their first steaming cup of hot chocolate around 500 B.C., it’s likely they never imagined that Tom Hanks would sing a whole song about it in The Polar Express. You know the one: Hey, we got it! Hot! Hot! Say, we got it! Hot chocolate! Of course, they probably also never guessed their concoction of ground-up cocoa seeds, water, cornmeal plus chili peppers would evolved into a milky, creamy dessert-worthy treat. Wondering what to sprinkle on, aside from that sweet dollop of whipped cream or pile of marshmallow pillows melting atop your mug? Say, we got it! Hot chocolate toppers!

Chocolate’s best pairing? Sorry, Cupid, put away the strawberries and wait your turn — it’s more chocolate. Grab a high-quality dark chocolate bar and your veggie peeler to create the cutest, richest curlicues, melting into a bittersweet symphony of flavors The Verve would envy.

Feeling salty? Say seasoning’s greetings with a dash of coarse sea salt. Or indulge in a cinn-ful treat with a sprinkle of cinnamon. How about a nod to its origins by kicking it up a notch with chili powder. Alexa, play “Christmas Wrapping” by the Spice Girls.

Did your confectionary delights turn out less than delightful? Don’t toss those cookies! Crumble ‘em up and rebrand them as ganache garnishes.

Take your holiday rage out — say, we got it — by placing a candy cane in a plastic baggie and smashing it to smithereens. Sprinkle atop your hot cocoa for a chocolate and peppermint delight that’s winter’s answer to mint chocolate chip ice cream.

But our go-to? Peppermint schnapps. All the mint chocolate goodness plus a delightful buzz. Leave this treat out for Santa and you’re bound to get on the last-minute nice list. Or find Santa snoozin’ in your easy chair on Christmas morn.

Sage Gardener

Cranberries are weird. They are grown beneath layers of peat, sand and clay covered by water and are harvested by combing the floaters off the surface. As anyone who’s unearthed a bag left over from Thanksgiving knows, they are slow to go bad, so much so that sailing vessels of yore stored them in barrels on long sea voyages to stave off scurvy. When dropped, they bounce like a ball. In fact, early cranberry

farmers bounced them down staircases, discarding the ones that didn’t make it to the bottom. No evidence suggests that the Pilgrims ate them at the first turkey throw down. Nobody knows where the name came from, maybe from low German kraanbere because the flower’s stamen looks like a crane beak. American Indians called them sassamenesh, which English speakers thankfully ignored. Indians used them to make pemmican, a winter staple made by mixing fat, pounded, dried meat and often dried fruit. Cranberries, by the way, grow on vines, not bushes, and belong to the same genus as blueberries, Vaccinium, derived from the Latin word for cow, vacca — maybe because cattle gobble them up. Native to North America and northern Europe, they grow wild from Nova Scotia to North Carolina. Rather tart in flavor, some people “carve” the jellied cranberry straight from the can and feature jiggling slices of it on a serving platter. NPR diva Susan Stamberg goes on and on about her mother’s cranberry relish, which includes onion and horseradish. Me? I’ll stick to my own mama’s unjiggling cranberry relish, made with bouncy fresh berries, orange segments and grated rind.

— David Claude Bailey

It’s where life’s most cherished memories are made. This holiday season, we’re grateful for our clients who’ve trusted us to help them find the perfect place to call home. Here’s to the joy and warmth of home this season!

And the Award Goes to . . .

Earlier this year, we were honored by the N.C. Press Association with the following editorial awards:

First Place in Feature Writing: Cynthia Adams for “Wine Not Now”

Third Place in Feature Writing: Billy Ingram for “Greensboro’s Jeanaissance”

Third Place in Profile Feature: Cassie Bustamante and Bert VanderVeen for “Minding Her Business”

Second Place in Lighter Columns: Cassie Bustamante for “Chaos Theory”

Third Place in Lighter Columns: Jim Dodson for “Simple Life”

And in the advertising sector:

First Place in both Special Sections and Real Estate Ads

Second Place in Retail Ads

Third Place in Advertising Campaigns

We’d also like to congratulate our sister publications — PineStraw, SouthPark and Walter — who each took home awards as well. And a special shoutout to the team at Walter for snagging the award for general excellence. O.Henry is proud to be part of The Pilot’s team of stellar publications and digital offerings. We look forward to bringing you more stories highlighting the “Art & Soul of Greensboro” in 2025. OH

Gift of Golf

This is your chance to win 2 nights and 3 rounds of golf at Pinehurst Resort for you and a guest.*

*Sweepstakes rules apply. Enter before December 15th

Sagittarius

(November 22 –December 21)

You know that shameless party guest who just can’t stop with the eggnog? Darling, you are the eggnog. Rich, indulgent and best in small doses, most folks simply don’t know how to handle you. This month kicks off with a Sagittarius New Moon conjunct a retrograde Mercury in Sagittarius (read: you’re going to feel tipsy). Wait until December 5 to dive into that new project you’re all charged up about. Success may take a while, but the seeds you plant now will take root.

Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you:

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

The gift isn’t always obvious.

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

Don’t leave before the second act.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

Make friends with your color palette.

Aries (March 21 – April 19)

Look under the couch.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20) Cut the fluff.

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

Invest in wool socks.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

Double dog dare you to care less.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)

Two words: sugared cranberries.

Virgo (August 23 – September 22)

Tacky is as tacky does.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

Go for the upgrade.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

Prepare to dazzle yourself. OH

Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla.

Oh, Baby

Times and diapers, they’re a-changin’

By m aria JohNsoN

Awhile back, a friend suggested that we walk together as she pushed her granddaughter’s stroller around the neighborhood where the toddler’s family lives.

and aunts did the same thing, rolling their eyes at baby monitors

Now, there’s a whole new crop of baby gadgets and practices to learn. Of course, today’s parents-to-be can turn to a slew of social media channels for tips. Not sure what to do with a newborn?

The offer lay on the changing table, so to speak, for several months, until one day, over coffee, I resurrected the idea.

My friend set down her blueberry muffin.

“I’d rather wait,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

“For her to be potty-trained,” she said.

My head tilted in the manner of a dog — or grandchild-less human — who does not understand what she just heard.

My friend explained: Her granddaughter was being toilettrained in the modern way, with a small portable potty that was to accompany her everywhere she went. Said receptacle was to be planted on any reasonably level surface whenever the baby gave an indication that she needed to go. This was common practice, my friend assured me, adding that some baby johns are so realistic that they appear to have water tanks behind the seat.

“Do they flush?” I asked in jest.

My friend laughed.

“No,” she said, adding under her breath, “not yet.”

My friend further reported that in New York City’s Central Park, it’s not unusual to see families lugging mini-potties around on their daily jaunts, then — when the time comes — scrambling to find privacy for their children’s plastic-lined privies behind rocks or bushes or anywhere one might go for relief in an emergency.

Fine for them, my friend implied, but she was not itching to be known as the pop-up potty lady.

Later, when the subject came up again, this time amongst some newly hatched granny-friends, one astutely observed: “Kinda changes the concept of the stranger lurking in the bushes, doesn’t it? ‘Hey, kid, I got a potty for you over here. Follow me.’” We cackled in the way that every generation hoots at the child-rearing practices of succeeding generations. Our mothers

YouTube it. There’s bound to be a Midwesterner who knows how to swaddle with power tools. Then there’s the recently released ninth edition of an old standby, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, the pregnancy bible I used when my at-home test turned pink for the first time in the early ’90s.

I got my mitts on an updated volume. It was oddly reassuring to see that the fundamentals of gestation haven’t changed much in 30 years, though the book reflected societal shifts in life outside the womb: the existence of gender-reveal parties and ultrasound videos; the acknowledgement of unmarried and same-sex partners; and warnings about the use of e-cigs, cannabis and CBD during pregnancy. Heck, there’s even a yellow flag about drinking kombucha.

That got me thinking about another possible niche in pregnancy publishing: a primer for folks my age as we watch our Millennial and Gen Z kids get into the repro game.

So you won’t be clueless at your children’s baby showers and other infant-centric affairs, I give you a pocket version of What to Expect When They’re Expecting.

1. No, that’s not a potholder. That square of fabric with a loop at the corner is a “Twinkle Tent,” which is intended to keep a baby boy from peeing on the person changing his diaper. Same goes for the conical “Pee-pee Teepee.” Eventually, your children — the grown ones — will figure out that by the time the geyser erupts, all you can do is treat it like a Super Soaker, partially block it with your hands, laugh and consider yourself baptized into parenthood. Put on a party hat — the Pee-pee Teepee doubles as one — and celebrate.

2. In related news, a concept called diaper-free, aka naked, potty-training, is making the rounds. According to proponents, when your kids are ready to graduate from nappies, you strip them of their diapers to make them more, um, aware of their bodies. Then you watch their faces for signs that they need to go and hasten them to the proper place, much as you would with a

puppy who starts sniffing, scratching and circling the carpet. If you know anyone who plans to try this method, we have two words. OK, technically three words: Kids ’n’ Pets, a stain and odor remover. $5.58 for 27 ounces. But available, with good reason, by the gallon.

3. Blackout is beautiful. Not that our children are trying to raise a generation of vampires, but nursery black-out curtains and black-out tents that stand alone or zip around a crib are officially a thing, supposedly a calming thing because, hey, there’s no light by which to see anything scary. Also German U-boats will never be able to see our coastline, by golly.

4. Pelvic floor trainer. Yes, this is what you think it is. A coach who guides pregnant women through Kegel exercises, mainly, we surmise, so that when they reach our age they will not wet their pants while laughing at the gifts their daughters receive at baby showers.

5. Babymoon. A version of the honeymoon, except this lovey-dovey trip is taken by couples before the baby arrives, usually during the second trimester, before the mama-to-be swells into the stage of Don’t. You. Ever. Touch. Me. Again.

6. Ever.

7. I mean it.

8. Push present. Dang, where was this trend when I was a young mom? The concept is that the new mom deserves some sort of material reward for the physical work she does while having the baby. And no, partners, C-sections do not absolve you. We’re talking baubles. Carats. 14K. Birthstones, at the very least.

Truth: No amount of bling can substitute for what most moms would actually prefer — kindness, admiration and offers of “Here, lemme take the baby while you go out for a while.”

At the same time, this mother of two (bracelets? earrings?) is totally down with the concept of reparation jewelry. OH

Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry magazine. Email her at ohenrymaria@gmail.com.

TheFinishing Touches

How Katherine Min’s last novel came to be

story about the making of The Fetishist, Katherine Min’s posthumously published novel, is almost as interesting as the book itself. It has been touted as a novel ahead of its time — a comic, yet sincere, tender and occasionally befuddling exploration of sexual and racial politics.

The story is told through three main characters: Daniel Karmody, a white Irish-American violinist from whom the novel gets its name; Alma Soon Ja Lee, a Korean-American cellist, who’s only 13 when the first of many fetishists she encounters whispers, “Oriental girls are so sexy”; and Kyoto Tokugawa, a 23-year-old Japanese American punk rocker who devises a madcap assassination plot to avenge the man she believes to be responsible for her mother’s suicide.

The novel starts 20 years after the estrangement of Alma and Daniel and ends with them reconnecting. In between, readers get to see Kyoto’s zany failed assassination attempt of Daniel and subsequent kidnapping. They’ll learn of his dalliances with a cast of women — many of them musicians, such as Kyoto’s mother, Emi — while he longed for the excitement and thrill he felt with Alma.

The intertwining of the narratives of these protagonists and the intriguing significant others in their orbits lead to alluring plot twists and a timeless appraisal of the white male’s carnal objectification of Asian women. But let’s start with the end of

the book and the touching afterword by Kayla Min Andrews, Min’s daughter, a fiction writer like her mother, who explains how The Fetishist came to be published.

It almost wasn’t.

Min was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014 and died in 2019, the day after her 60th birthday. She was an accomplished writer who taught at the University of North Carolina at Asheville for 11 years, as well as a brief stint at Queens University in Charlotte. Her first published novel, Secondhand World, a story about a Korean-American teen clashing with immigrant parents, came out in 2006 to literary acclaim and was one of two finalists for the prestigious PEN Bingham Prize. During the ensuing years, Min worked on what would become her second and final novel, The Fetishist, reading portions to her daughter over the years.

“My new novel is very different from Secondhand World,” Min told her daughter during a phone call Andrews details in her afterword. “It’s going to have many characters, omniscient narration. Lots of shit is going to happen — suicide, kidnapping, attempted murder. It’ll be arch and clever, but always heartfelt. I’m gonna channel Nabokov. And part of it takes place in Florence, so I have to go there as research.”

Min completed a draft of The Fetishist sometime in 2013, her daughter writes. “I assumed she would pass it to me when she was ready,” Andrews wrote. “But she was still revising, polishing.” Then the cancer diagnosis hit.

Although fiction had long been Min’s forte, she stunned her family shortly after getting the news, letting them and others

know that she no longer was interested in what she had been writing and instead found purpose in personal essays examining her experiences with illness and dying.

“She never looked back,” Andrews wrote. “When anyone asked about The Fetishist, Mom would say, ‘I’m done with fiction,’ in the same tone she would say, ‘I’m a word wanker,’ or, ‘I’m terrific at math.’ Matter-of-fact, with a dash of defiant pride. She didn’t refer to The Fetishist as an ‘unfinished’ novel. She called it ‘abandoned.’”

And that was that.

As Min’s life was coming to an end, she and Andrews discussed many things, such as where she wanted her “remaining bits of money” to go, and how the playlist for her memorial service should include The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go,” DeVotchKa’s “How It Ends,” and Janis Joplin’s “Get It While You Can.”

“What we did not discuss in the hospice center was her abandoned novel. Or her essay collection. Or anything related to posthumous publishing,” Andrews wrote. After several years of grieving, therapy and a new celebration of her mother, Andrews and others saw to it that The Fetishist, found nearly completed in manuscript form on her mom’s computer, would be shared with others. Andrews helped fill in the story’s gaps.

“I am so happy Mom’s beautiful novel is being published;

I am so sad she is not here to see it happen,” Andrews wrote. “I’m happy The Fetishist’s publication process is helping me grow as a writer and a person; I’m sad Mom’s death is the reason I’m playing this role. I suppose I no longer conceptualize joy and sorrow as opposites, because everything related to The Fetishist’s publication makes me feel flooded with both at once.”

Sorrow and joy are among the emotions that flood through The Fetishist, too. Min had it right when she told her daughter her novel would be “arch and clever, and very heartfelt.” The author’s note at the beginning of the novel sums it up well:

“This is a story, a fairy tale of sorts, about three people who begin in utter despair. There is even a giant, a buried treasure (a tiny one), a hero held captive, a kind of ogre (a tiny one), and a sleeping beauty,” she advises her readers. “And because it’s a fairy tale, it has a happy ending. For the hero, the ogre, and the sleeping beauty, and for the giant, too. After all, every story has a happy ending, depending on where you put THE END.” OH

Anne Blythe has been a reporter in North Carolina for more than three decades covering city halls, higher education, the courts, crime, hurricanes, ice storms, droughts, floods, college sports, health care and many wonderful characters who make this state such an interesting place. Wed - Fri / 9:30a - 5:00p Sat / 9:30a - 4:30p

By Ross howell JR.

Judy, Jim and Jay Mitchell

Sleeping Beauties

If you like poinsettias, go see Jim and Judy Mitchell

On a September afternoon, I follow the KingTobaccoville exit off U.S. Route 52 and ask Siri to take me to Mitchell’s Nursery & Greenhouse. I’d been told that for spectacular poinsettias, Mitchell’s is the place to go.

Pulling off Dalton Road into a newly graveled parking area, I can see brand-new greenhouses — some still under construction. I spot a building with an “Office” sign and park nearby. A petite, sun-tanned woman greets me inside.

That’s Judy. She founded the nursery with her husband, Jim.

They had been growing poinsettias for a while when Judy got the idea to approach a breeder about getting cuttings for a “trial.” Such trials provide breeders with feedback on the performance and desirability of different varieties.

The breeder agreed to participate.

“That first year, we had 30-some different types,” Judy says. And this year?

“We have 80-some poinsettia varieties,” she answers. “We raise 12,000 of ’em.”

That sounds like a big number. Judy grins when I give her the side-eye.

“Let’s go see,” she says.

We hop on a golf cart and head out. There are rows of trees and shrubs in containers. Beyond the graveled area are alleys of pansies in flats. We pass a greenhouse full of Boston ferns.

When we pull up at a big greenhouse complex, Judy gestures for me to walk in first.

And there are the poinsettias, a vast quilt of varying shades of green. The plants are grouped by type and height — each one individually potted, some with plastic rings to support their branches.

I can only imagine the splendor when all 12,000 are bursting with vivid holiday colors of red, white, dappled, pink and more.

Judy explains the process.

In August, cuttings arrive from the breeders, set in strips about 2 feet long — 13 cuttings per strip — and the cuttings are individually potted. At the end of August, their tops are pinched off by hand to enhance branching and manage height.

Fertilized automatically by irrigation, the poinsettias grow in the greenhouse through September, shaded only if the sun raises the greenhouse temperature too much. It’s important that the plants receive plenty of natural light.

By October, nights have grown longer than daylight periods. On cooler nights, the greenhouses are heated — poinsettias, indigenous to Mexico and Central America, will not survive the cold temps at our latitude.

DR TARIQ JAH, DDS

“Everybody is real careful to cut off their headlights when they turn in to come to work,” Judy says. “We don’t want the plants to think it’s daylight!”

As the poinsettias acclimate to these longer, sleepy nights, their bracts begin to show their beautiful colors.

Judy tells me poinsettia customers start showing up in early November.

“But Thanksgiving is when we really get going,” she adds with a smile.

Judy and Jim met at N.C. State as students and, by the time they graduated with degrees in horticulture, they were a married couple.

After Jim took a job as a pesticide inspector with the N.C. Department of Agriculture, the couple bought a house in King.

In 1979, the Mitchells purchased a lot next to their house and started their business.

Over a span of 45 years, Jim and Judy’s nursery has moved and expanded to some 13 greenhouses, with additional property nearby for a potting shed and

Their son, Jay, joined the nursery in 2001, after working at a large greenhouse operation in Raleigh. His wife, Melissa, a math teacher, updates Judy’s spreadsheets and balances the company checkbook.

When I ask Judy if she and Jim are ready to kick back, maybe do some trav-

She tells me they’ve already seen a good bit of the world, traveling in their

“Besides,” Judy adds, “when you have this beauty to see every day, why would OH

Ross Howell Jr. is a contributing writer. Mitchell’s Nursery & Greenhouse grows a wide variety of trees, shrubs and plants. Yes, they grow 12,000 poinsettias. But they grow 18,000 geraniums for spring! Visit www.mitch -

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Kimberly Kesterson Trone

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Squirreling Away the Worst Christmas Ever

A ghostly green trail recalls the dispirits of Christmas past

By Cynthi A A dA ms

One of the things we must navigate in our marriage is different perspectives on Christmas. My husband does not feel the same joy I do. For him, it’s more about acceptance. Losing his father when he was a boy left him painfully marked. Even now, the holiday is simply too much for him — the gifts, the preparations, the decorating, the meal planning. It overloads his pleasure circuits, which blow out as predictably as tree lights.

I gamely ignored him until the most horrible, awful year hit, when Lady Luck turned on me. But that year didn’t stand out solely because of an unfortunate Christmas. The whole year had slid progressively downhill, like butter off a hot corncob, leading to its concluding wreckage, resulting in a hot, slippery mess around New Year’s.

The year of disappointments was ushered in by a family death, which was already a lot to handle. But then I came home for lunch one workday to discover everything on our front porch — the charming front porch with freshly restored Chinese Chippendale railings — was stripped bare apart from the mailbox. Someone had backed into the drive we shared with our Westerwood neighbor and loaded up a wicker sofa, two wicker chairs, a large antique ceramic vat that held our sneakers and an antique-pine room divider, leaving behind a single chair cushion. And our sneakers.

I wept.

This was before exterior cameras and Ring wireless doorbells captured every package delivery and any porch pirate. These

criminals practically had carte blanche. If they’d had more time, I imagine they would have taken the porch swing I’d recently repainted to match the house trim and removed the window box.

The police were sympathetic, but seemed to have nothing to offer beyond suggesting we speak to the neighbors to suss out any intel. Our neighbors, a bit elderly, had heard nary a peep.

By the holidays, I’d been in a yearlong funk. My husband attempted to cheer me up. “Let’s go Christmas shopping and get you a Christmas tree!” he announced one Friday night with enthusiasm. I looked up, startled. “Really?” I stammered.

“Let’s go!” he said, suggesting we carry cash to shop more efficiently. Both of us had a few Benjamins in our wallets. We went to the mall, splitting up for various errands, and my heart lifted at joining the bustle of shoppers. As I stood with an armful of toys, a nicely dressed woman bumped me. “I can’t make this line go any faster,” I reproached, arching my brow when she did it a second time.

By the time I reached the register and deposited my gifts, I noticed something odd. The leather gloves on top of my bucket-style bag were gone. Heart thundering, I realized the wallet beneath was, too.

I stammered to the clerk that someone had taken my expensive wallet, a gift from my best friend, and she summoned mall security.

As I waited for them outside, my husband arrived, frowning. I kept it together until we got to the car.

“I had nearly $500 in cash,” I moaned, tears streaming. My husband patted me, looking miserable.

“Honey, let’s go buy a Christmas tree and salvage this night.”

I took my hands down from my face and blew my nose. “I don’t think I can,” I sputtered.

“We’re getting a Christmas tree!” he insisted heartily.

It was late. Many of the tree lots were closing. We cruised along High Point Road until we got to the former Hechinger’s,

which had a tree lot out front.

“Here!” my husband soothed, parking. I protested. I was tired. Dispirited. “You can decorate it tomorrow!” he said, hoping to jolly me along. The odd fluorescence of mercury-vapor pole lights made all the trees unappealing and I stood listlessly.

“I’m picking one out,” he said, insistent.

He chose a tree, noting it seemed to shed a bit while dragging it to the car. I kept my mouth shut.

“We’ll put it in a bucket of water till morning,” I suggested lamely.

After spending Saturday morning verifying that credit cards were stopped and reporting the stolen checks, I pulled decorations out of the attic to redeem the day. In the glare of sunlight, the tree looked strangely green. Unnaturally green. And still droopy.

We dragged it in, strung lights and swept up dropped needles. By the time it was decorated, it seemed to have shed at least a fourth of the needles. I didn’t much care. “Why aren’t these needles brown?” I asked my husband, cupping them in my hand.

“I . . . think they spray painted a dying tree green,” he said, avoiding my eyes.

“Per-fect,” I said, biting off the second syllable

But as the days passed, I learned things. Our insurance agent suggested we file an official police report, versus the mall security report, in order to take a tax loss. Familiar faces came to the

house to take my statement. They remembered me, too.

“Tough year,” the officer murmured. “Thanks,” I managed.

The officers reached out after Christmas with an update. Asking if I could identify my robber, they produced a sizable album of mug shots. Having pointedly ask her to stop bumping me I knew I could. Thumbing through pages, I found her: polishedlooking and business-like.

She could have been a school principal, or bank exec.

“That’s her!” The pickpocket was known to hit busy shopping areas. The bump-and-lift move was a classic technique.

“She’s a professional,” they said.

My emptied wallet was found among others discarded in a Durham hotel trash can.

When they left, I sank down before the Charlie Brown-pitiful Christmas tree. I wanted it gone. The strings of lights practically slid off, taking more of the determinedly green needles with them. I stripped off the ornaments and dragged the very dead tree out to the curb.

In coming months, ground squirrels would quickly scamper over the nuclear green tree needles. Even after we moved two years later, a stubborn ghost trail remained from the front porch to the sidewalk.

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Magnificent Migration

The splendor of snow geese

By susA n CA mpBell

Here in central North Carolina, when someone says “goose,” we tend to think Canada goose. Canadas are everywhere — yearround — large, brown and white, often noisy and hard to dissuade from our yards, ponds and parks. Like it or not, they congregate in the dozens after breeding season ends in mid-summer. But these are not the only geese in our state during the cooler months. If you travel east, you will find snow geese — and not just a few dozen but flocks numbering in the thousands.

As their name implies, snow geese are mainly white in color. Their wing tips are black but their bills, legs and feet are pink. There is also, at close range, a black “grin patch” on their bills. Size-wise, snows are a bit smaller than Canada geese but their voices are, unquestionably, louder. They produce a single-syllable honk which is repeated no matter whether they are in flight or on the ground, day or night.

These beautiful birds are, like all waterfowl, long-distance migrants. As days shorten in the fall, snow geese gather and head almost due south before cold air settles in. Migration finds them high overhead, arranged in “V” formations and flying mainly at night, when conditions are cooler. They may stop and feed at staging areas along the way, staying in the same longitude for the most part. When flocks finally arrive in North Carolina, it will be in

the early morning hours along our coast. These will be individuals from Eastern populations — birds that have come all the way from western Greenland and the eastern Canadian Maritimes.

During the winter, snow geese remain in large aggregations that move from well-known roosting locations, which are usually larger lakes, to nearby feeding areas that provide an abundance of vegetation — seeds as well as shoots and roots of nutrient-rich plants. These are likely to include native aquatic vegetation as well as agricultural crops such as corn and soybeans. As they move from place to place, even if it is a short distance, the birds will swirl up and into formation, honking all the while, and then swirling dramatically again as they descend. It is a sight to behold!

These distinctive birds can sometimes be found inland in the cooler months, though they are most likely to show up alone or in small numbers, mixed in with local Canadas. You might find the odd snow goose or two in a farm pond, playing field or agricultural area in the Triad or Sandhills.

To fully appreciate the splendor of these beautiful birds, it is worth a trip east in early-to-mid-January. For the best viewing, try the large agricultural fields adjacent to, or on, Pocosin Lakes National Wildlife Refuge. You also may find birds moving to or from the lake at Lake Mattamuskeet National Wildlife Refuge. Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge on the coast holds a smaller number of snow geese in December. They can be seen feeding along N.C. 12 until the wild pea plants there — one of their favorite foods — are spent. OH

Susan Campbell would love to receive your wildlife photos or observations. She can be reached via email at susan@ncaves.com.

By Billy ingRA m

“I used to be psychic,but I drank my

way out of

it.” — Mark E. Smith

For nearly a quarter-century, there’s been a psychic living on or next door to the corner of Cornwallis and Lawndale Drive, a modest sign in the window advertising her supernatural services. Her name is Dorine and it’s been exactly four years since I impulsively dropped in for a crystal reading and then wrote all about it in “Wandering Billy.” I decided a return visit was in order.

I consider myself a skeptic but with an inclination to believe that it’s possible for someone to possess psychic powers. An interest was sparked when Mrs. Jean Newman, an English teacher at Page High School in the 1970s (she’d previously taught at Grimsley and later at Smith), decided to forgo her planned Shakespeare lesson, and instead regaled us with stories about transcribing clairvoyant sessions conducted by Edgar Cayce (18771945), known as “The Sleeping Prophet.” In subsequent research, I could find no record of her involvement, but it may be telling that Cayce’s lifelong transcriber and unmarried collaborator’s last name was Davis, Mrs. Newman’s maiden name.

My own personal interactions with psychics are limited but not totally lacking. In Los Angeles in the early-1980s, I worked on a two-week long TV pilot for a daily Entertainment Tonight-style program centered around unexplained phenomenon. One of my assignments was to ferry “psychic” Sylvia Browne — that flatulent phony Montel Williams foisted on his audience of shut-ins in the 1990s — to and from the studio. Afternoon television’s Aunt

Hagatha, her future forecasting and accuracy when it came to pinpointing missing persons was about as precise as that of a toddler straddling a toilet. I was the only person that would have anything to do with that arrogant gasbag, while everyone else on set avoided her like the plague she became. Whether they were previously acquainted with Sylvia Browne or that was just a visceral reaction, either way, it was perfectly understandable.

During those two weeks, I relished this rarefied opportunity to delve daily into every one of the Whitman’s Sampler of astrologers, tarot card slappers, clairvoyants, palm readers, fortune-tellers and prognosticators serving as the production’s on-site consultants. Shades of Paddy Chayefsky’s Network, the program even had a soothsayer predicting next week’s headlines. Truthfully, most of those freelancers I conversed with on that project came across as very credible, genuinely gifted in their particular mastery of the mystic arts.

I’ve had more than a few profound occurrences in my lifetime that can only be explained by some form of sixth sense at play. So I entered into my Friday afternoon session with Dorine, our psychic on the corner, with an open — but cautious — mindset. Asked what medium (so to speak) she excelled in, Dorine insisted that she doesn’t communicate with the spirit world; hers, she says, is an intuitive gift.

Being a somewhat spiritual and self-aware individual, just about everything she told me about myself was spot on, corresponding precisely with her reading four years ago. I am, after all, the same person, so a radically different assessment would have been troubling.

Could she have recognized that I had written about her years

ago? She only had my cell number and the name “William.” That was also the case last time. Practically the first thing she asked was, “Have you ever thought about being a writer?” But then she went on — just five minutes after meeting me — to detail traits about myself that I’m convinced no-one could possibly detect or infer from anything I’ve ever written. Maybe I do walk around with my heart on my sleeve at times, but I went sleeveless that day.

As much as I was leaning into the experience, I was determined to remain impartial, stubbornly so. When Dorine asked what my question was to her, I straight-up expressed a desire to understand whether or not she actually possessed psychic abilities. “I feel like I’m under a microscope,” she said at one point. “You are — I apologize!” was my response, attempting to quell any resulting negativity that I might be inadvertently harboring. What she expressed to me, and I agree wholeheartedly, is that, if a person is not receptive, she can’t possibly do what she does. The reluctant subject throws a block in the pathway, so to speak. Therein lies the conundrum underlying any psychic reading.

In our first meeting four years earlier, Dorine informed me I would be entering into a relationship in the next year, likely with a physician, that would involve extensive traveling. No such luck. This time it was predicted that traveling to New York is in my near future — not outside the realm of possibility. She indicated money was not a problem for me and, I suppose when you don’t have any, it isn’t much of a bother. Suggesting that I had been a healer in a previous lifetime, she wondered if that had manifested itself in this existence? Possibly so, but if she had intuited instead that I was once a corny 1930s’ nightclub lounge act, that would have resonated more clearly.

It was more hit than miss, however. “So what are you doing with art?” Dorine asked. I was preparing a canvas that day to do a painting, only the second time I’ve done so in the last 20 years. I do feel

Jeri, this

Thank

Your

Jeri K. D’Lugin, JD*, AEP®, CLU®, AIF®

she accurately described the painting I completed a few months ago, which is difficult, given that it’s an abstract. That genuinely impressed me. And when it came to identifying who I am at the core of my being, she was amazingly dead on.

What should one expect from a psychic reading? The Oracle of Delphi or a modern day Edgar Cayce connecting to God’s messengers on the other side? Is keen insightfulness, which this lady clearly possesses loads of, proof of clairvoyance? What impressed me most was that, when told she was wrong, she didn’t equivocate or try to say, “Maybe that’s true of someone close to you.” She simply said, “Well, that’s what I’m picking up.”

If you’ve never sat for a psychic reading and you’re psy-curious, or, even if you have, Dorine seems like the real deal? She definitely doesn’t come across as a con artist or huckster. And I’d know because I had a glancing dance with one of those shady characters decades ago, not to mention witnessing Sylvia Browne’s naked fakery on display. Dorine’s advice to me was exactly what I needed to hear, what I had been telling myself, in fact. Of course, take this with a grain of for-entertainment-purposes-only salt.

Now that I think about it, more than two decades ago, right about the time Dorine began her paranormal practice on the corner of Cornwallis and Lawndale, that parcel of land had been rumored to be the site of a Walgreens or some other big box store that would complement Lawndale Shopping Center, deeply upsetting the residents of that genteel Kirkwood acreage perimeter. Given how quickly the dominoes fell under Friendly Center’s encroachment into its surrounding neighborhoods, could there be an otherworldly explanation for the vanishing of that retail expansion project?

Or maybe, just maybe, I’ve been watching too many episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. OH

Billy Ingram watches too many episodes of Unsolved Mysteries.

Gorgeous, Rural Home in Burlington

Kimberly Moore-Dudley Team Lead, Realtor® kimberly.mooredudley@compass.com 336.776.7086

December 2024

Winter Solstice

The sun through branches lights my face. I look through my eyelashes: prisms. I close my eyes, the field glows warm carmine. No snow, no promise of snow. A crow bark-laughs. Another clatters its beak like castanets. Their chatter perhaps of pecans aplenty or the simple mad joy of being alive in this moment. It is easy to love what is passing.

Debra Kaufman

Debra Kaufman’s latest collection of poetry is Outwalking the Shadow from Redhawk Publications..

The Sweet OF LINDSAY EMERY

On Suite One Studio and hand-making a life full of everyday beauty

By Cynthia a dams

At 38, Lindsay Emery has managed enviable successes, despite a once-in-a-century pandemic and all which that entailed for a small business. Above all, she learned to pivot and nimbly found her mark.

When Emery first launched Suite One Studio in 2009, her delicately embellished, airily romantic, handmade ceramics swiftly gained national press: Bon Appètit, Elle Decor, Food & Wine, and Coastal Living. She made the September 2014 cover of Better Homes & Gardens and, in 2015, House Beautiful spotlighted the “soft, irregular” porcelains.

“Bowls are thrown on a potter’s wheel, and platters and plates are rolled out by hand,” House Beautiful wrote. “Emery washes each in colors that fire into watery glazes” sold as one-off pieces online.

That year, Better Homes & Gardens named Emery a “Rising Stylemaker,” before she ranked 34th among Country Living’s 100

most creative people three years later (hailing her work as “the next wave of pottery.”)

You might guess — wrongly — that the brand’s name was drawn from an address. Suite One Studio was inspired by Emery’s student waitressing days, when a favorite customer dubbed her “sweet one.”

Which made her smile. And Emery smiles easily and often, especially now when discussing her spouse, Kim Cannan, their nearly 2-year-old toddler, Lydia — or Suite One, which she calls her “first baby.”

“The day before she was born, I was loading a glaze firing.” Heavily pregnant, she kept to her work amidst their pre-holiday busy season. “Twenty-six hours later, baby!”

Whereas most North Carolina pottery is primarily utilitarian, Suite One Studio’s wares differ from the familiar. They are painterly — Emery was first a painter — possessing a delicate softness,

Sweet Life

punctuated by pastel shades and light touches of gold, a contrast to the earth-toned sturdiness of most Seagrove pottery.

“I love florals, and the blue-and-white, traditional palette for porcelain done in a modern way.” Emery’s designs echo a nostalgic beauty that works well with heirloom pieces, she says.

She describes a “near reverence” gathering around her greatgrandmother and great-aunt’s table. “They spent hours cooking and then serving everything ‘just so.’”

Those family meals felt intentional and important. “When I design and create tableware, I’m reaching for a similar feeling.”

Her theme, “time at the table,” whether with pottery or, now, painting, signifies the underrated, “small moments of everyday beauty.”

Her creative odyssey took a surprise turn when she was a student at Guilford College, where she met Cannan, who was also studying psychology and art.

“Ceramics was not my intended path. I planned to paint, and then I planned to do art history.”

Adapting to Guilford College’s offerings, Emery fell in love with pottery, making more pots than she knew what to do with.

“I started gifting them to friends and family, and then I started selling them online on Etsy.”

Surprised by sales of a “squat little mug set,” she added trays and platters to her Etsy shop.

“People were getting more comfortable buying online. Etsy was doing more advertising. I started to get exposure in areas I would never have gotten exposure.”

Food bloggers “found my work on Etsy and started buying plates, platters and bowls. It gave me a sense of what people were attracted to . . . I was finding my way.”

Not a techie by nature, Emery’s strength is in recognizing trends. “I think that served me really well.” Soon able to live com fortably from online sales, Cannan joined the company, coordi nating operations.

By 2011, Instagram offered yet another social media av enue. Emery jumped in as an early adopter, developing more

extensive relationships with food bloggers and up-and-coming influencers, allowing her business to spread via digital word of mouth. Collaborations came with online retailers Chairish and Anthropologie. Working with Chairish, she styled her feminine pastel pieces with vintage tableware to help collector’s “rethink vintage pieces.”

“Platters, trays, serving bowls are almost always accent pieces mixed with items they [customers] inherited,” Emery says.

She designed wine glasses for her website, having studied glass blowing earlier in Norfolk, Va. Working with glassblowers in Star, N.C., “I was able to bring ideas in glass to life,” later featured in magazines and at Chairish.

When Anthropologie dispatched a team of stylists and photographers to Greensboro, Emery had only just moved. The creatives were somewhat surprised by her modest garage studio.

She designed a series of mugs for Anthropologie (laughing at the irony, given she dislikes making mugs), with the retailer handling mass production. A “watercolor-inspired” collection, Mimra, was sold at selected Nordstrom stores in partnership with Anthropologie Home.

Pressures mounted along with success.

Bon Appètit commissioned an oversized platter for a photo shoot in its December 2018–January 2019 issue, with only six days to produce. “Which meant freehand carving the form,” she says. Emery managed.

Eventually, British stores carried Suite One Studio housewares. Commercial success demanded more staff producing hundreds of pieces monthly. By 2018, Suite One Studio moved into a 1,200-square-foot studio with two huge kilns. Running high production, Cannan handled the back side of the studio and the couple eyed expansion.

Emery’s relationship with Anthropologie continued for a few years, leading to other possibilities. What seemed like success on the outside, Emery says, didn’t feel like it. Social media had created a hungry beast, even throughout COVID. Keeping up with the demand “felt like a really hard pivot.”

Potters. Weavers. Printmakers. All face an endless demand to produce, Emery says. “You want more. The more you can make, the more you can market and sell. And streamline. And the more orders you can fill.”

Ultimately, Emery decided against creating a small factory, sticking with small-batch production.

“I had to close [my studio]”, she adds. “I changed the trajectory of my business from being focused on volume and production to being focused on self-fulfillment, creativity.”

“I wanted to do less and love the work more. That’s when I made the shift. For things that look successful now, there were things I had to give up,” says Emery.

Anthropologie was surprised by how small her business was versus her large brand recognition.

“How are you making this work?” its team members asked.

She spun off complementary businesses, consulting and teaching fellow artists the art of social media.

***

During 2018, Emery and fellow artist Allie Dattilio cofounded The Studio Source. Their online program taught artists “how to build their dream online art careers.”

“We ran it for six years. It has been a place for online learning for artists, who are starting to grow their online services. Support, training, everything they needed to know. Photography, marketing, collection releases,” she says.

Over 1,100 artists went through The Studio Source. Many left unfulfilling work places to start six-figure creative businesses. Then, Emery stopped doing that, too.

“I don’t like feeling stuck.”

She loved working one-on-one with artists. And being a painter working on actual canvases, something she had stepped away from due to her work with ceramics. She missed it. And having a child was life-changing. So, she pivoted again.

***

On a late summer morning, Emery stands among metal racks in her home studio stacked with various pieces awaiting painting, glazing and firing.

All of which, from the raw clay to those final, shimmery plates, platters, vases, pitchers and vessels, are created and finished by hand.

What does Emery’s family eat on daily?

“My plates,” she answers. “I like basics. A lot of the stuff I kept for myself is simple, white porcelain. I have some pink. Sometimes with a gold rim, but usually just plain.” She likes the heft of her plates — their conformation. “I find them comfortable in the hand,” she says. “They feel nice.”

Not too heavy, not too thin.

Just white.

Lydia, playing on the floor, calls, “Mama.”

For nine years, Cannan worked alongside Emery as “the one behind the scenes — keeping things organized and on track.”

Cannan was also Lydia’s primary caregiver during the day until recently accepting a position with the City of Greensboro.

There are still adjustments to their new dynamic. “Slowing

down my business and closing my other business has been a huge decision, but I can feel in my gut there’ll be other opportunity to hit the gas.”

She smiles. Lydia is at the core of that decision. The secret to her success, she reflects, “is I had a great support system behind the scene,” meaning Cannan.

Lydia swings a broom among the stacks of porcelains, but her mom never flinches.

“This is what I want to be doing,” she says, “and it’s such a short time that she is little.” Emery wants to model running a business

PHOTOGRAPH BY BETSY BLAKE

to her daughter too.

“I had the banana bread going, and my baby was napping, and an interview going,” she says happily, “and I like that! That’s what I’ve always wanted with my business, for it to fit into my life.”

The business has been adapted to fit her life, she adds proudly.

Lydia cries, “Draw . . . draw!”

Emery finds paper and pencil. Her daughter happily draws. She tells a story about a friend relocating to the Triad after years of being apart. Helping her unpack, Emery spotted items she had made. In that moment, she understood how, despite years of separation, she was a part of her friend’s dinner parties and memories, “through pieces I made, objects we take for granted.”

When she sees her friends using sometimes completely forgotten work, she is moved. “But they remember, and I think, ‘Ah, I made that!’”

From a young age, Emery’s own parents supported her love of art, which she wants to do for her child. “The human condition, I think we’re wired to create things, but fear gets in the way, and insecurity.”

A plane goes over. Lydia pauses. Watches, then speaks.

Emery interprets her daughter’s baby-talk as saying “art.”

“I love now having someone mentor me,” Emery says, standing near an easel.

Having spent 15 years working three-dimensionally, Emery worried her painting skills “had gone dormant.” Putting brush to ceramics is not the same as painting on canvas.

Before Lydia’s birth, she signed up for a painting class with artist and teacher Kelly Oakes throughout the 2021 COVID surge. Now, the two artists share a studio in a former factory, now the Eno Arts Mill in Hillsborough. A vaulted ceiling, pale walls and a tall window provide light, even on a gray day.

Artworks line the walls and Emery’s still lifes wait on an easel.

Figs. Peaches. Soft colors and vivid fruits find their way into Emery’s feminine, color-saturated works. Occasionally, her ceramics are part of the composition.

Even the fruits have a story. Mango was Lydia’s first solid food. “At 9 months, Lydia decided they were her favorite food.”

Looking back on leaving with a friend to attend a 2023 Better Homes & Gardens influencer event, Emery winces at the memory of leaving 10-month-old Lydia at home for the first time. While away, she noticed a piece of blue fabric.

It symbolically figures into a painting. Interestingly, their studio is in a former cloth factory, she mentions.

The red fabric in another painting is an apron specifically worn for a Southern Living feature at an editor’s request.

“I was the first artist to get a studio here,” says Oakes about the industrial building, “and then less than a week later COVID hit.” Until pandemic restrictions relaxed, she could only use the studio if isolating alone. She values Emery’s creative company.

“Kelly has been so supportive of my motherhood dream, too,” she says, as the toddler plays at their feet on the polished wooden floor.

Katie Murray, executive director of the Orange County Arts Commission, has since opened offices there, too. During First

PHOTOGRAPHS

BETSY BLAKE

Friday events each month, artists open their studios to the public.

“It has become a real known event since we first started,” says Oakes, who teaches classes, accepts art commissions and does portraiture since retiring from art education.

“I do think if you’re doing anything creative, you have to think if you want to monetize it; you have to develop a plan for that. If you don’t want to, and are just learning about it to deepen your own creative life, then that is fine,” Emery says as Oakes offers Lydia a toy. “But find a mentor if you can.”

“She has this exceptional brain,” Oakes says about Emery, adding that she is equally left- and right-brain, a rarity.

As Cannan pursues her new career, Emery occasionally brings Lydia with her to Hillsborough.

You work toward having art fit into your life.

“You don’t stretch your life to fit your art,” Emery repeats. Her art now conforms to fit her life.

It is her mantra; a wife, mother and artist’s North Star. OH

Keep up with Lindsay on her new substack, Courage & Creativity (Lindsayemery.substack.com). Thanks to the Thompson family for allowing us to shoot in their bright and beautiful kitchen, recently remodeled by Triad Flooring & Bath (triadflooringandbath.com).

Sweet holiday treats to swap or gift

PHOTOS AND RECIPES BY JASMINE COMER

’Tis the season for merry-baking! We asked our resident food columnist, Jasmine Comer, to whip up a few culinary cookie delights suitable for gifting neighbors or swapping with friends. Inside our little box o’ goodies, you’ll find three delectable treats.

Chocolate chip cookies are for basic bakers. Kick yours up a notch by making brown butter chocolate chunk cookies. No one needs to know about the pound of butter you burned on your way to achieving toasted-golden perfection.

Sweet, spicy and nutty. Could be a charming dating app profile. Could be white chocolate pecan cinnamon cookies.

American novelist Henry Miller once said, “Every man with a bellyful of the classics is an enemy to the human race.” He clearly hadn’t had one of these classic sugar cookies. A bellyful of these will have you caroling and spreading good cheer in no time.

And — just for you — we volunteered as taste-tester and can assure you these cookies are so good that you’ll wanna keep ‘em for yourself.

Brown Butter Chocolate Chunk

Makes 12-13 cookies

1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons salted butter, divided

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup cane sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup plus 1 tablespoon unbleached all purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon cornstarch

5 ounces dark chocolate, chopped

Directions

Brown the butter: place the half cup of butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. After the butter melts, stir it continuously, over the heat. After about 5 minutes, the butter will start foaming and browning in the bottom of the saucepan. At this point it should smell nutty and fragrant. Continue to stir until the butter reaches a dark, golden brown color, being careful not to burn it. Burnt brown butter tastes bitter.

Transfer the butter to a bowl and stir in the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter. This adds some of the moisture back into the butter that evaporated while browning it. Let the butter cool completely.

Whisk in the brown sugar and cane sugar until combined. Then whisk in the egg and vanilla.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and cornstarch. Fold this mixture into the butter and sugar mixture, followed by the chopped chocolate.

Scoop dough into balls (about 2 tablespoons) and refrigerate overnight or up to 48 hours.

When ready to bake: Preheat oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place the cookies on the sheet 2-3 inches apart. Bake for 11-12 minutes or until golden brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool.

Classic

Sugar

Classic Sugar

Makes 10-11 cookies

Ingredients

1/2 cup salted butter, melted and cooled

3/4 cup cane sugar

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons flour

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon cornstarch

Directions

In a large bowl, mix the melted butter and sugar until combined. Whisk in the egg and vanilla extract.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and cornstarch.

Fold the flour mixture into the sugar and butter mixture. Scoop dough into balls (about 2 tablespoons) and refrigerate overnight or up to 48 hours.

When ready to bake: Preheat oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place the cookies on the sheet 2-3 inches apart. Bake for 11-12 minutes or until golden brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool.

Pro Tip:

Flour brands make a difference. I use King Arthur All Purpose Flour. Using a different flour brand may yield different results due to how flours are milled. When measuring your flour, make sure it is loosely packed. Scoop it from the bag or container and level it off gently with the back of a butter knife. Do not pack the flour down. Too much flour makes cookies dry and fluffy. These cookies should be tender and moist.

White Chocolate Pecan Cinnamon

White Chocolate Pecan Cinnamon

Makes 13-14 cookies

Ingredients

1/2 cup cold salted butter, cubed

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup cane sugar

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup plus 1 tablespoon unbleached all purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon cornstarch

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

1/3 cup oats

1/4 cup toffee

1/3 cup pecans

3.5 ounces white chocolate, chopped

Directions

Using a stand mixer or hand mixer, blend the butter, brown sugar and cane sugar until combined. This may take about 7-8 minutes. Stop and scrape down the sides of the bowl every 2-3 minutes.

Blend in the egg and vanilla extract.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, cornstarch and cinnamon.

Add the flour mixture to the butter and sugar mixture and blend just until combined, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.

Blend in the oats, toffee, pecans and white chocolate just until combined.

Scoop dough into balls (about 2 tablespoons) and refrigerate overnight or up to 48 hours.

When ready to bake: Preheat oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place the cookies on the sheet 2-3 inches apart. Bake for 11-12 minutes or until golden brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool. OH

Jasmine Comer is the creator of Living Meals, a food blog where she shares delicious, everyday recipes. You can find her on Instagram @livelymeals

Elliott Landy, one of the indispensable chroniclers of the American music scene during the second half of the 20th century, traveled to Woodstock, New York, in 1968 to photograph Bob Dylan for the cover of The Saturday Evening Post. “Bob sat on an old tire, and began playing while I took pictures,” Landy writes. “It occurred to me that millions of people would be thrilled to be ten feet away from Bob Dylan while he was playing, but he was so casual, it seemed normal to me.” This photograph was taken outside Dylan’s home, Byrdcliff, using infrared color film. More of Landy’s work can be seen at www.elliottlandy.com.

By Bland SimpSon • photograph By Elliott landy

“A little more to the left.”

“No. It’s fuller around to the right.”

“Just try it my way and you’ll see.”

“Now the stand’s leaking.”

“Somebody’s liable to get electrocuted.”

“I swear you’ve got the best side to the wall.”

“I thought we’d be through by now.”

“You’re right — it was better back to the left.”

“Oh, God. I’ve already gone and tied it to the wall sconce.”

It was a few days before Christmas, 1968, and my family had gathered. The living room was filled with the intense, clean, resinous smell of the tree. Once we had it hoisted into place, we set about the bristly business of decorating. I was 20, and my mind was full of music. Withdrawing to the sofa, I thought: Bob Dylan wouldn’t be caught dead doing this

“The angel’s crooked.”

“Let’s not have the angel this year.”

“Not have the angel?!”

I decided to make a pilgrimage to Woodstock, N.Y., to see Dylan. It didn’t slow me down a bit that I had little to tell the man except that I was inspired by his songwriting. To shake Dylan’s hand, that would be Christmas enough.

The next afternoon, with no more than 50 dollars, I set out. I was catching a ride north with two friends from UNC, paying my share of all the 26, cents per gallon gas we’d burn, and coming back south by thumb. Fifty dollars would be plenty.

This was really my second pilgrimage to Dylan and Woodstock. The first I had undertaken several weeks before, during Thanksgiving, and had abandoned outside of East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. I got cold and lost my nerve on a little-traveled high-ridge country road there, and I turned back. On the way home I caught a ride with a Black schoolteacher, who carried me all the way down 81 through the Shenandoah Valley night. We drank a beer together the last hour before he let me out, and agreed that things might be getting better between the races, or at least we hoped they were.

Then a trucker hauled me from Hillsville down the Blue Ridge Mountains. When we stopped at a Mount Airy diner and I didn’t order anything, he thought I was broke and made me let him buy me a cup of coffee and a chance on a punchboard. Back in the semi, he gave me some liquor, which I drank from a 6-ounce hillbilly souvenir jug he’d stashed under the seat. He let me off at 52 and 40 in Winston-Salem about 4 in the morning.

recovered my spirits; after all, I was on a mission.

They were driving me towards Storrs, Conn., to see the Hickey family, late of Chapel Hill, and coincidentally to perform a flanking maneuver to approach Woodstock from the north and east. The plan had been to leave me in New Haven where the big roads fork, but at the last minute my compatriots, who were bound for Boston, found it in themselves to veer off to the north and take me right into Storrs.

They left me at a gas station at first light, a gray dawning, 6 or 8 inches of snow on the ground and more still coming down. I showed up oafish and unannounced at the Hickeys’ home between 8 and 9 in the morning, four days before Christmas. They masked whatever annoyance they might have felt and greeted me affectionately.

All four daughters in the Hickey family were home for Christmas except the one who drew me there. She wasn’t expected for another 24 hours or so. No matter. The other three were going ice-skating that day, and so, now, was I. Most folks don’t forget their first time on ice-skates, and with good reason.

Immediately a hunter with an enormous buck strapped to the top of his Impala picked me up. A couple minutes later, he said: “Look, I hope this don’t bother you none but I got to hear some music.” He popped an eight-track of Johnny Horton’s Greatest Hits into the tape player, and the car was full of the songs I’d learned to sing by: “Battle of New Orleans” and “Sink The Bismarck!” and “North to Alaska.” The teacher and the trucker and the Horton-loving hunter made me think better of the pilgrimage business. I forgot the Stroudsburg cold and knew I’d try again.

It was several weeks later, the evening of December 10th, when we piled into my friend’s ’65 Rambler and went roaring up the three-laned U.S. 1, which is these days a ghost road just south of the Petersburg Turnpike. On and on, all night, the first of many deep and dreamless long-haul trips up and down the Eastern Seaboard. I was astounded at the size and magnificence of the great bridge at Wilmington, aghast at the dazzling lunar landscape, gas flares and chemical air of north Jersey. One of my more worldly companions gazed upon the scene and remarked with a combination of pride and disgust: “America flexing her muscles!”

From the George Washington Bridge, we looked out over the vast glare of Manhattan. In less than a year it would be my home, but that night it made me feel thoroughly out of place, for a few moments sorry I had even come. Soon it was past, and we were in the dark Connecticut country, and it was snowing lightly. I

Sue did finally come home, and we had a lovely New England time that next day. It was brisk, and the sun was bright on the unmelting snow. She got over the surprise of my presence, commiserated with me about the Towerof-Babel Christmas tree back home, and wondered what I would say to Bob Dylan, himself, when we met. After breakfast the next morning, she drove me out to the highway, and I was soon up at the Massachusetts Turnpike in the company of a Goddard student driving a Volkswagen with skis strapped to the back. He was on intersession, he told me. He was going somewhere to ski for six or eight weeks, for which he would get academic credit. We drove west towards New York and the Hudson, and, before he left me off at the Saugerties exit, I had seen groves of chalk-white paper birches for the first time.

A couple of artists, a man and a woman, in a dingy old Pontiac, drove me from Saugerties to Woodstock. They said they were friends of Bob’s, and suddenly everything felt very chummy. The artists called themselves Group Two-One-Two, after the route number of the Saugerties-Woodstock road. A few years later, when I was living on the Upper West Side in New York, I would see a notice in the Village Voice about a show they were having down in SoHo and meant to ramble down and take a look. But the notice would stay taped up on the refrigerator until well past the closing of their show, and I would never make the trip.

Group Two-One-Two’s explanation of where exactly Bob Dylan lived was so convoluted that I stepped into a shop in downtown Woodstock, a bakery, and asked them. In moments I was tromping on out of town through a wood and up a hill towards something called “The Old Opera House.” Dylan’s driveway, the bakers said, was right across from it.

It was about 18 or 20 degrees in the middle of the afternoon,

and I wasn’t used to such cold. I didn’t feel dressed for it, but I certainly looked like I was. I had on a Marine greatcoat from a surplus store south of Wake Forest, a slouch hat from a surplus store on Granby Street in Norfolk that I’d bought on my way to see Cool Hand Luke with my Virginia cousins, and a pair of snakeproof boots from Rawlins, Wyo., that I’d bought on my way to be a cowboy in eastern Montana. (You, or your beneficiary, said the card in the boot box, got a thousand dollars if you died of snakebite while wearing the boots, providing the snake bit you through the boots.) All this was practical and, back home in North Carolina, warm winter wear, though my mother lamented that I looked like something from the Ninemiles — a remote swamp in Onslow County down east. It hardly mattered here. In Woodstock, everyone looked like something from the Ninemiles.

Without my even thumbing for it, someone offered me a ride, and there I was at The Old Opera House. There turned out to be six or eight driveways next to and across from the place, no names on mailboxes, certainly no sign that said: “This way to Bob Dylan’s house.” I waited. About 20 minutes went by before a thin man in his 30s came striding up the paved road. He would have walked right past me, but I spoke up: “Excuse me, do you know which one of these driveways goes to Bob Dylan’s house?”

“This one.” He pointed at the one he was starting down.

“Thanks.” I fell in beside him, and we walked fifty yards or so before either of us spoke again.

“Is Bob, uh, expecting you?”

“No.”

“Hunh. I don’t know if it’ll be cool for you to just . . . go up to his house.”

This was discouraging, but what could I do? Go back to the bakery and telephone for an appointment? “I’ve come from North Carolina,” I announced.

“Oh.” He gave up, and we kept walking. A few hundred yards into the woods, the road forked, and he pointed towards a long low building of dark logs that looked like a lodge. “That’s Bob’s house.” Then he disappeared down the other fork.

In the driveway at Bob’s house were a ’66 powder blue Mustang and a boxy 1940 something-or-other with the hood up. Two men, one of them small and weedy, the other bulky and bearded, were working on the engine. I stomped up in my snakeproof boots, but neither of them looked up. After a minute or two of staring over their shoulders at the old engine, I finally said, quite familiarly, “Bob around?” The weedy man didn’t respond, but the big fellow gave a head-point at the log lodge and said, “Yeah.”

Sara Dylan answered the door, gave me a blank look, and closed the door. About two minutes later Bob Dylan himself appeared and stepped out onto the small porched entry. He wore blue jeans, a white shirt buttoned all the way up and a black leather vest, and he was very friendly and relaxed.

“Bland. What kind of name is that?”

A family name, I said. Then just to make sure he’d hear me right, he asked me to spell it.

“Bland. Well, I sure won’t forget that.” He talked in person just

like he sounded on record in “The Ballad of Frankie Lee And Judas Priest.”

“North Carolina, that’s a long way.”

I agreed, but I wanted to meet him, shake his hand, tell him I admired his work, that I wanted to write songs myself.

“What did you want to do before you got this idea about writing songs?”

“I was going to go to law school.”

“Well,” he said, more serious than not, “country’s gonna need a lot of good lawyers. Maybe you ought to keep thinking ’bout that.”

This wasn’t what I had traveled hundreds of miles to hear. I started asking questions. Did he live in Woodstock all the time? Most of the time, he said, but he was thinking about moving to New Orleans. When would he have a new record out? In the spring — “I’m real happy with this one.” He was talking about “Nashville Skyline,” which he had just finished. I asked about a song of his the Byrds had recorded, a song I’d heard out in Wyoming the summer before. “Yeah, I know the one you mean, but I can’t call the name of it right now — it’s in there somewhere.” The song was the riddle-round “You Ain’t Going Nowhere.”

We talked along like that for almost 45 minutes, during which time I felt the cold acutely. Dylan was dressed in shirtsleeves, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold at all. He must have known my head was full of hero-worship, and he was kind enough to let my time with him be unhurried. The moment of my mission played out as naturally as the tide. I was immensely grateful, am grateful yet.

The pilgrim was ready to go home. I pulled my map out, unfolded it, and while we talked about what the best way to head back south was, the bulky fellow lumbered over from the old car where he and the weedy man had been working all the time. The mechanic ignored me, and I ignored him right back, which was easy enough: I had the entire eastern United States spread out in front of me. My mind was on the road, but I did want one last word or two with Bob Dylan. He gave Dylan a report on all the things that weren’t wrong with car, then said: “I think we can get it started if we hook it up to the battery charger.”

“Okay,” Dylan said. “It’s in the garage.”

“I got it already, and tried to hook it up, but even with that long cord it won’t reach. We need another extension cord.”

“Extension cord,” Dylan said, and looked past the big man at the old car. He thought about the request a few moments, then shook his head.

“Gee, Doug,” he said, “I’m afraid we just used the last extension cord on the kids’ Christmas tree.” OH

Bland Simpson is Kenan Distinguished Professor of English and Creative Writing at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He is also the longtime pianist for the string band The Red Clay Ramblers. His most recent book is Clover Garden: A Carolinian’s Piedmont Memoir.

Tales of the weirdest, wildest and worst gifts ever

Is it, as they say, better to give than to receive? There are situations when that age-old bromide can be answered with a resounding YES! Especially on those occasions when you’re presented with a gift so puzzling, so bizarre — so wrong — that you find yourself asking, what was that person thinking?!?

Early one Saturday morning, O.Henry magazine dispatched editor Cassie Bustamante and a bleary-eyed Billy Ingram out to the Corner Farmers Market to ask passersby about the strangest, oddest or most unwelcome gift they’d ever received. The answers may surprise you.

Take from me my lace

“Worst gift ever? One year, my mom forgot my birthday but she said, ‘Oh, I have a gift for you.’ It was a pair of lacy underwear. I was a married woman, 40-years-old, and these panties were two sizes too small, which meant they were her size. She gave me panties she had bought for herself, but they were way too sexy for me so I know they were too sexy for my mama. She didn’t have a husband. They weren’t in a pack or a bag or anything. They were on a little raggedy hanger from the store and they still had the Walmart ticket on them.”

— Queen C

Beauty is in the eye of the ugly sweater giver

“Every year the girls in the family get the ugliest sweaters from my aunt. She loves them, but we would never wear those things. Years go by and we just keep hiding them at her house. They are so ugly. Like hot pink and cropped and not our size. Last year she gave us all matching beanies . . . and they matched the ugly sweaters! It keeps getting worse.”

— Barbara Strickland

Happy Mother’s Day! Now go away

“For Mother’s Day, my husband gave me a trip away for that weekend, by myself, anywhere I wanted to go. And I thought that didn’t really honor me for being a mother too much. Where did I go? I didn’t go. I rejected the gift.”

— Christy Douglas

Lost in translation

“I was dating this fellow from Israel, and English was his second language. After a night of passion, he left a note on my pillow that read: ‘Good morning, sweaty, kisses all over your body, love Avi.’ I told him when he got home, ‘I think you meant sweetie!’” — Susan Grant

Once bitten, twice shy

“Someone gave me a box of chocolates with several of them half bitten into — all the ones that she didn’t want. She’d bitten into them, decided she didn’t want that, and she packaged it all up in a pretty little heart-shaped box and gave them to me.

Now that’s a weird gift!” — Mari Rufo

It’s the thought, or lack thereof, that counts

Someone gave me a big pencil that says ‘Souvenir of Hawaii.’ I was like, of all the things you could have brought me back from Hawaii, you bring me the big pencil? Or it will be a plate or a T-shirt that says ‘Souvenir of . . . .’; the stuff you buy at the last minute in the airport, like that Seinfeld episode. Now, when I travel, sometimes just for fun, I’ll get my children a big pencil that says ‘Souvenir of . . .’ on it.” — Anonymous

Dads not a Duke fan, honest

“The kids gave me A Touch of Gray hair color when I was starting to go gray, but I wouldn’t use it because my father had tried to dye his hair one time and it turned blue. This was right before the N.C. State basketball playoffs with Duke. I knew he was going to be there with us and I told him, ‘I don’t want you there with blue hair!’”

— John Kelly

What, the elves ran out of Cabbage Patch Kids?

“When I was a little girl, Santa gave me a pirate ship. I was very upset about it because I thought Santa thought I was a boy. It was a pirate ship, so it doesn’t need to be gender specific, but for some reason I was upset. But now I love that pirate ship!”

— Caroline Forman

Lived to tell the story

“On my 50th birthday, my wife surprised me with a parachute jump. It was scary, and it was not something I ever thought about doing. The company provides someone for you to jump with — you’re attached to them — so they tell you what to do and it worked out fine. It was a delightful experience, I enjoyed it enough that I would do it again although my body’s getting to the point where I have to be careful what I subject it to.”

— Steve Warshaw

On the flip side

“I was 3,000 miles from home a few weeks before Thanksgiving in the 1990s. Some distant relatives in California I’d never met invited me to their home for turkey dinner. I needed to bring something, as you do, so my new co-workers suggested Mrs. See’s candies. ‘You can’t go wrong,’ they told me. When I handed the box of chocolates to my host at Thanksgiving, she

tossed it aside: ‘We don’t eat this junk in our household, but I’ll give it to the mailman for Christmas.’ The way I was raised, that was considered rude, but her husband was an admiral in the Navy, so what did I know?” — Buddy Rogers

Christmas for Dummies

“A middle-aged, female family member gave me a copy of Calculus For Dummies. She knew I was taking a calculus course at the university and may or may not have known I was doing very, very poorly in the class. It didn’t help that I had a professor whose Russian accent was so thick that virtually all of the students in the class couldn’t understand him!

“I also didn’t appreciate the intimation of the word ‘dummy.’ I went to law school and showed her!! To add injury to insult, when I opened the book, I saw lots of passages which were underlined — she had given me a USED book — a horrible book and it wasn’t even new!” — Renee Skudra

Christmas Summer’s Eve

“At our house, stocking gifts are wrapped and we go around the circle taking turns opening them and showing them off. One Christmas — after I was separated, but before I was divorced — my ex-husband’s mother wrapped up and put in my stocking Summer’s Eve wipes. So I had to unwrap them and show them off in front of the whole family.” — Anonymous

Drive it into the ground

“This was in France when I was living there, and my ex thought it would be an amazing idea to give me a gift of a thumb drive for my birthday. We had been together for 2 1/2 years. We’re not together anymore.” — Sadaf Fardanesh

Gone to the dogs

“She’ll wrap our gifts in newspapers from years ago, but then she gives us magazines from the ’70s and ’80s. One of the strangest gifts I’ve gotten from her recently was an anniversary gift — a can of dog-grooming mist for our dog, mmm-hmmm. It worked really well for the dog though!” — Anonymous

In hot water

“I think my mother-in-law forgot to get me a present, so she wrapped up a bag of pasta. It was old pasta, too, not even new pasta. We never cooked it.”

— Mark Plott

Chugga-chugga-chocolate

“For one of my birthdays when I was much younger, my father made a train made out of cake — locomotive, railroad car, caboose. And I love chocolate — the locomotive was chocolate. The others were other flavors. So we get ready to eat the cake and my father says, ‘No, no, no, no! We gotta save the locomotive!’ So he puts it in the freezer and I get it the next year with two other cars. Again, my father says, ‘No, we gotta save the locomotive!’ For the third year in a row, I get the same chocolate locomotive and two other cakes. And nobody wanted the chocolate that year so we finally threw it away.” OH

— David Lozano

Have your own worst or weirdest gift story to share? Email cassie@ ohenrymag.com.

From Borough to Boro

. . . And back again

By Cassie Bustamante

When Brooklynites Alec Pollak and Swati Argade took haven in her parents’ Greensboro home in May 2020, they thought they’d just perch there for a short time. After all, Argade’s mother and father were stuck in India, unable to travel back to the United States due to COVID restrictions, but they’d be returning.  Argade, who had grown up just a block away, had sworn she’d never move back to Greensboro. Home, to her, was in Brooklyn, with her husband and their then 9-year-old daughter, Indie. Plus, she had opened a storefront called Bhoomki in 2012, “a Brooklynbased responsible textile-obsessed brand & laboratory.” (She closed the physical storefront in 2022, but maintains an e-commerce site.) And Pollak, who works in marketing, is a born-and-raised New

PhotograPhs By a my Freeman

Yorker. Having grown up in a household that was both Catholic and Jewish, he had never lived anywhere other than Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn — all boroughs of New York City.

But as the pandemic pressed on, it became clear that a return to Brooklyn was not going to happen as soon as they hoped. The borough they called home had become “an atmosphere of fear and the unknown, and it was just tripping us all out,” says Pollak. “Not to mention, just knowing there were these outdoor morgues that they were setting up.”

Four years later, they’re back in Brooklyn, reflecting via Zoom on how they not only warmed up to Greensboro, but, in fact, bought a fixer-upper and found themselves becoming part of a community that, over the decades, seemed not only accepting but welcoming to newcomers. In turn, Argade organized a book club with new — and old — Greensboro friends where the focus was diversity. Women from various backgrounds read works by authors of color every other month. It became, Argade recalls, “this place where we could have conversations around what is it like to be Jewish? What is it like to be Hindu? What is it like to celebrate Christ, you know?”

And though the couple ultimately moved back to their beloved New York City, the experience offered Argade healing from her own past. “I didn’t ever feel accepted growing up in Greensboro,” she says, recalling classmates who ridiculed her and her

identical twin sister, Jyoti — the only two young Indian women at Page High School that she can recall. “I was told that I was ugly every single day of my life growing up.”

“It was more shocking that you moved to Greensboro than that Indie and I did,” muses Pollak.

Snuggling on their sofa with their tan-and-white Corgi nestled on Argade’s lap, the two of them look back on their experience in Greensboro — and reflect on to how it changed them and maybe some of the people in Greensboro they left behind.

While sheltering at her folks’ place, Argade’s childhood friend, Soumya Iyer — who remembers teenage Argade babysitting her — planted a seed, suggesting a Starmount Forest home her friend was putting on the market. “‘I know that you don’t want to move here,’” Argade recalls her pal saying, “‘but why

don’t you just come and see the house?’”

With the guidance of Realtor Melissa Greer, the couple toured the home on a lark, and, as it turns out, fell in love with it. “It was beautifully done and had this massive backyard, which was a big draw,” says Pollak.

They knew how competitive the real estate market could be. In fact, they’d just gone through the process in Brooklyn and, after putting in 12 offers, were under contract with a place there. (Thanks to COVID, Pollak and Argade were able to break it.)

They went full-bore on the Starmount home, putting together a strong offer they were sure would make the home theirs.

“We didn’t get the house,” says Argade.

But, says Pollak, “it triggered something in us.” What else could be out there? they wondered. And what they knew for certain was

that they were not ready to go back to apartment living just yet, especially after a few months in the Gate City that he calls “such a breath of literal fresh air.”

The couple quickly went from considering the possibility to urgently wanting a Greensboro home.

“That’s exactly what happened,” says Argade with a laugh.

Plus, they knew investing in a home was wiser than renting in the long run. “A friend once told us, ‘Don’t think of it as spending money. Think of it has a houseshaped bank,’” quips Pollak.

Greer took them to see a couple other homes, including a circa 1927 house on Chapman in her own Sunset Hills neighborhood.

With its penny tile and existing color scheme — blues, grays, blacks and white — “It felt like old-time New York spaces,” says Argade, something she was sure would appeal to her “dyed-in-thewool New Yorker” husband.

“We saw it at 3 in the afternoon,” says Pollak, “and we were under contract by midnight.”

Curled up together on the family sofa, Argade and Indie are known to often watch the HGTV show of No Demo Reno, which features homes redone beautifully with zero demolition. “And constantly during the show,” says Pollak, “Indie is like, ‘Mama, you could totally do that.’”

He agrees and adds that his wife has always had the ability to

design, whether it’s been for friends or in her store, “but never had a full canvas to express it.”

Paintbrushes in hand, the couple got to work and continued the theme of blues — “an homage to denim and indigo,” Swati says, inspired by both Greensboro’s rich fabric history and her own background in sustainable textiles. Farrow & Ball’s Hague Blue now covers the walls in the living room, trimmed by the same shade in a high gloss. In the kitchen, the cabinetry was already blue, paired with a black-and-white checkerboard floor, but the couple painted the walls white with black trim. And on the library walls? “Bell Bottom Blue.” But there was a major problem they soon discovered after moving in that no amount of paint could remedy. “That fall, October and November of 2020, I think it was the highest rainfall on record for those months,” Argade recalls. Their backyard flooded and became “like quicksand.” But that’s not all. The basement filled up with water, too. “We also discovered there was a 2-foot-by-2-foot hole in the brick wall of the basement that was covered up with plywood — and that’s where all the water was coming in.”

Plus, the water flow through the yard created a trench, one that Swati fell in and “pretty much got a concussion.” The couple worried about safety, especially when it came to hosting Argade’s aging parents, who, amidst a full-blown pandemic, would not enter their home, but were happy to spend time in their daughter’s backyard.

Before anything else design-show-worthy could happen, they decided to invest in the landscaping while making the necessary reparations to prevent future water damage.

“It’s a solid house now!” Pollak says proudly.

The silver lining? The backyard was transformed into a dream space where they could watch movies with Indie — including their holiday family favorite, Elf — gather with friends, and plant new gardens, which include Argade’s beloved indigo plants.

When she took that tumble, she serendipitously discovered an old, unused feature: an old-fashioned subterranean garbage receptacle. “I was lying on the ground going, ‘Oh that’s where I could put my indigo vats!’” She laughs about it now.

The intrinsic blue theme of the house even carried into the famous Sunset Hills lighted Christmas balls that conveyed with the sale of the house. “It was funny because so many of the balls that were left behind were Hanukkah blue. Do you remember that?” Argade asks her husband.

Pollak smiles and nods pensively. He had always celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas. Now, married to a first generation Indian American, he’s added Diwali to his holiday festivities and Argade has adopted his traditions as well. When it comes to their daughter, Pollak says, “We’ve put forward those family traditions.”

In fact, he adds, “We always want her to have a big world or to acknowledge that she has a big world and it is hers to experience.” Together, they provide their daughter with an abundance of cultural celebrations.

The holiday season, for the Argade-Pollak crew, “kicks off with Halloween,” says Argade. Before they even met, they each went all out for Halloween. Then, they were married on Halloween. It’s only natural that Indie embraces All Hallow’s Eve, too.

Shortly after that falls Diwali. Then comes “Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, New Year’s,” says Argade, “so it’s almost like a trickle of holidays through those last two months of the year.” Actually, she says, “We would put up our balls earlier than a lot of people in the neighborhood as we were celebrating Diwali because Diwali is also a festival of lights in the same way that Hanukah is a festival of lights and Christmas itself is a festival of lights.”

Often, the family hosted holiday celebrations in their home so that friends could enjoy what Argade calls this “magical experience every holiday” created by her Sunset Hills neighborhood. It was important to her, as a person of color, to open her doors to people who had perhaps not yet had the opportunity to be invited into a holiday gathering there.

Argade notes that the original deed to the house, which they have, reads “no coloreds allowed, white only.” Now, she says, “there’s a Jew and an Indian that own the house and it’s become this multicultural gathering place in Sunset Hills — it’s a very full circle moment.”

Determined to make a difference in Greensboro, which she calls “kind of my revenge,” Argade both found and created her own community. “You started to integrate yourself into Greensboro society and culture,” says Pollak. It’s true. Argade served on the board of GreenHill Center for NC Art and was involved with the Community Foundation’s developing committee. She returned to the Indian community of her childhood. She started the book club focused on diversity.

Argade was able to “touch and get a handle on” so much in the four years the family spent in Greensboro. “But,” she adds, “my mom was also really amazing at being part of the community and teaching me a lot of those skills. Like, how do you talk about the Indian community? How do you bring people together?”

While her mother cultivated those skills, the house allowed Argade room to build a bigger table and open up space for these

kinds of discussions. “Having that amount of space . . . it really activates community in a way that it’s not activated in the same way here,” she says, waving a hand around the family’s current Brooklyn abode.

Pollak, too, got in on giving back to Greensboro. When Sunset Hills sent out a request to the neighborhood for a logo to celebrate its centennial, Pollak, who had graphic design experience, volunteered the chosen design, inspired by his own home’s original windows; he’d noted that they were shaped to look like a sun setting behind hills.

And yet, in June of 2024, the family loaded up and headed back to the Big Apple. “We are kind of interwoven as our tightknit three-person — well, you count too — three-and-a-half-person family” Pollak says, scratching Viv behind the ears, “that so much is about, well, where is Indie going to go to high school and what does that mean for where we should be.” Ultimately, they felt that Brooklyn was that place.

But, this time, there’s no more swearing she’ll never return. Between her community and house, Argade feels a newfound sense of home in the Gate City. “Leaving Greensboro this time, I felt a huge amount of love and acceptance,” she says with a smile. She currently makes a trip back every six weeks to visit friends and family and check in on their Sunset Hills home.

“We’re perched here for now in the apartment,” says Pollak, “but we’re still very much like, OK, we’re ready for anything. We’re ready to jump, to dive.” Who knows where life will take them next?

Wherever it is, says Argade, “Alec and I always say to each other, ‘Well, you know, my home is wherever you are.’” OH

ALMANAC December

By a shley Walshe

December is a bite of ginger, a dusting of sugar, a thick swirl of molasses.

Beyond the kitchen window, the quiet earth glitters in gentle light. Birdsong warms the frosty air. Save for the twitch of slender ears, a cottontail rabbit sits frozen in a sunbeam.

Just as the seasons announce themselves with unmistakable clarity, so, too, does this day. You reach for a hand of ginger, a paring knife, a timeworn recipe. Today is the day for ginger cookies.

As you peel and mince, the redolent fragrance of fresh ginger awakens your senses. Imagine growing in the darkness as this root did. The way life might shape you. What gifts for healing you might hold.

Butter softens on the stovetop. You stir in the ginger, brown sugar, cinnamon and molasses. A pinch of sea salt. Vanilla extract. Another pinch of sea salt.

Whisk in the egg. Add the flour and baking powder. The steady dance of wooden spoon stirs something deep within you, too.

This is how it goes. Homemade cookies send you time traveling. As you shape the dough, the timeworn hands of the ones who shaped you begin to clarify.

Memories are sharp and warm and sweet — here and gone like frost across the leaflittered lawn.

As for the cookies? Same, same.

Sink your teeth into the golden edges, the chewy centers, the sugar-laced magic. Delight in the depth of flavor. Let the ginger bite back.

Moment of Gratitude

Sprig and a Peck

Here’s a fun fact about a favorite Yuletide parasite. The word mistletoe is derived from the Old English misteltan, which roughly translates to “dung on a twig.” You can thank its high-flying seed mules for that. Although the white berries are toxic to humans, many bird species rely on mistletoe as a mineral-rich food source throughout the barren days of winter. If you find yourself standing beneath a festive sprig with the one you adore, consider tucking the etymology morsel away for later.

Cold air makes for dazzling night skies. Check out Aries (the ram), Triangulum (the triangle) and Perseus (the hero who beheaded Medusa). Not a night owl? Christmas Bird Counts happening across the Carolinas this month are a constellation in and of themselves. If rusty blackbirds and yellow-rumped warblers are more your speed, consider joining a local count to get in on the action. (Map available at carolinabirdclub.org.)

Stars and birds aside, don’t forget to count your blessings. The great wheel continues to turn. Winter solstice arrives on December 21. As we celebrate the longest night of the year — and the promise of brighter days to come — give thanks for the warmth and brilliance in your own life. You know what they say: The best things in life aren’t things.

December has the clarity, the simplicity, and the silence you need for the best fresh start of your life.

— Vivian Swift

WELCOME TO

STYLE

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!

You know Dasher and Dancer, but do you recall the Most Famous Cookie of All®? Wilkerson Bakery brings joy to your holiday season with nearly a century of tradition. Enjoy six Moravian Cookie flavors, including the Original Wilkerson Spice, Sugar, Lemon, Candied Ginger, Butter Rum aka “Blackbeard’s Cookie” and Orange Brandy, plus fresh Sugar Cake and Cheese Straws. Each treat tells a story! Shop holiday gift sets online at WilkersonBakery.com or in-store, and contact us for bulk orders.

Taste Tells the Truth®

With love, The Wilkerson family—transporting you back in time with every bite!

Hanes Lineberry Funeral Services in Greensboro, North Carolina, has helped families honor and celebrate their loved ones with respect and dignity for more than a century. We provide the compassionate care, personalized service and expertise needed to create thoughtful, unique memorials that you and your guests will cherish for year to come.

4NEW LOOKS

Our new, expanded location and showroom offers upholstery and reupholstery services featuring designer fabrics with thousands of choices. Make your house feel like a home with our unique home decor, including antiques, lighting, accessories and local artwork. Throwing a party? W-o-w your guests with our elevated entertainment products, custom printed stationery, napkins and cups. We offer an exclusive selection of gift items, including candles, linens, collectibles and holiday decor that can’t be found anywhere else. Let Murphy’s Upholstery help you create the look you’ve always wanted for your home.

For generations, Schiffman’s Jewelers has been the trusted partner for families across the Piedmont Triad, celebrating life’s most meaningful moments. We are proud to maintain enduring relationships with the world’s finest jewelry and timepiece brands. Being a part of your special occasions is a privilege we cherish, and we look forward to helping you discover the perfect gift to honor those who matter most.

5SHINY RINGS

6TIMELESS TREASURES

On the 6th day of Christmas, your true love gave to you . . . timeless treasures! From beautiful furniture and accessories to heirloom ornaments, discover the gift that tells a story.

Join us for a festive Holiday Open House December 14th. Step into a world of nostalgia and charm as you explore our curated collection of antiques and vintage treasures. Sip on warm cider, enjoy holiday treats, and find unique gifts for everyone on your list. Celebrate the season with us - where every piece has a story, and every story becomes a memory. Visit us today and make this Holiday one to remember!

The Health Insurance Shoppe’ was established in 2011 to help people make educated choices with their health insurance and Medicare choices.

Ask our professionally trained staff and Certified Senior Advisors to guide you. We represent you first and every company equally with no charge for our services.

The 7 SWANS A-SWIMMING from the song…represent the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit: Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Encouraging, Giving, Leadership and Compassion.

During this Holiday Season, we hope that you will all be blessed with these seven gifts and many more!

7SWANS A-SWIMMING

8 FULL FACEGLOWUPS

Do holidays have you looking tired or sad when you’re not? Who doesn’t want the gift of more compliments? We craft customized treatments with modern safety techniques and technology gained over our 45+ years in dermatology and aesthetics so that you can look as good as you feel - or even better! The results you achieve with us will ensure that YOU get the credit for looking amazing because we spend time and money in our continuing education each year on perfecting techniques that deliver amazing results without looking like you’ve had “work.”

We curate confidence. This season treat yourself or your loved one and make looking in the mirror fun again.

Become a member of the North Carolina Zoo to experience a full year of encounters with animals from North America and Africa – Asia coming soon! The world’s largest natural habitat zoo celebrates nature and allows the animals plenty of room to roam. A dedicated team of experts provide exceptional, compassionate care to more than 1,700 animals that call the North Carolina Zoo home. Leading efforts locally and globally to protect wildlife is critical for our collective future. Your membership to the zoo supports efforts to protect endangered species and habitats. Memberships vary in pricing and benefits.

10SKINCARE ESSENTIALS

Sparkle and Shine this Holiday Season with Merle Norman! Introducing our NEW Natural Lip Oil delivering lip-hugging, sheer glass shine! Soon to be your favorite to give and to keep! Stop by for an express makeover with our limited-edition Shining Eyes Palette and Charming Cheeks Palette. Plus pick up our In-Studio Exclusive Gift with Purchase – 4 game-changing skincare essentials with the purchase of two or more items, while supplies last.

There

12PLANTS BLOOMING

Guilford Garden Center in Greensboro, NC, near Guilford College, is a hidden gem offering a wide range of houseplants, flowers, trees, and shrubs. Perfect for both novice and seasoned gardeners, the center provides expert advice for all your gardening needs. During the holiday season, the garden center is transformed into a Christmas retreat offering Christmas trees, poinsettias, and giftable items. Visitors can explore unique plants, attend family-friendly workshops, and shop for quality soil, mulch, and fertilizers. Offering design services for yards and containers, as well as greenterior solutions for offices, the center transforms spaces into beautiful retreats, fostering a community of gardening enthusiasts year-round.

December 2024

Before attending any event, it’s best to check times, costs, status and location. Although we conscientiously use the most accurate and up-to-date information, the world is subject to change and errors occur!

December 1–31

LIFE & ART OF CHARLES M. SCHULZ

Curated by the Charles M. Schulz Museum in California, this exhibit details the artist’s life, including a replica of his drafting studio, and introduces the viewer to each of the Peanuts characters. Tickets: $4 in advance, $6 at door. Alamance Arts, 213 S. Main St., Graham. Info: alamancearts.org.

PIEDMONT WINTERFEST. Times and days vary. Glide, twirl or stumble your way across the ice rink with friends and family at its new location. Tickets: $15. LeBauer Park, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: piedmontwinterfest.com.

WINTER WONDERLIGHTS. 5:30–10 p.m. Greensboro Science Center’s holiday light display opens for the season. Tickets: $16+; under 3, free. Greensboro Science Center, 4301 Lawndale Drive, Greensboro. Info: greensboroscience.org/winterwonderlights.

CHRISTMAS AT KÖRNER’S FOLLY. 10 a.m.–4 p.m., Tuesday–Saturday; noon–4 p.m., Sunday. Wander through an old Victorian home decked to the nines for “A Gilded Christmas.” Tickets: $6+; children 5 and under, free. Körner’s Folly, 401 S. Main St., Kernersville. Info: kornersfolly.org/visit/ event-calendar.

MAKING CONNECTIONS. This installation of works from the Weatherspoon’s own collection showcases the gallery as an academic museum with deep connections to its campus, Greensboro and broader communities. Free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: weatherspoonart. org/exhibitions/current-exhibitions.

CRIP*. This group exhibition features contemporary artists who explore disabilities and the ways their personal experience of disability intersects with other aspects of their lives. Free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: weatherspoonart.org/ exhibitions/current-exhibitions.

Winter Wonderlights

December 1–31 • Greensboro Science Center

December 1–23

LIGHTS, SANTA, ACTION. Wander through a dazzling display of lights, visit with both Santa and the Grinch, and immerse your family in holiday wonder. Tickets: $15+. Kersey Valley, 6948 Cecil Farm Road, Archdale. Info: kerseyvalleychristmas.com.

December 1–21

INTERPRETING AMERICA. A collection of photos from the archives provide commentary on life in America from the late 19th century up to the present. Free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: weatherspoonart.org/exhibitions/ current-exhibitions

December 1

COMMUNITY SINGALONG. 3 p.m. Gather at This CommUnity Sings to share in heartfelt renditions of holiday classics. Free; first come, first served. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.

CRAFTSMEN’S CHRISTMAS CLASSIC. 11 a.m.. Shop handmade goods from makers across the states at the “Granddaddy” of all Craftsmen’s Classic shows. Greensboro Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.

IN THE GARDEN WITH SANTA. Noon–4 p.m. Evergreen is one of Santa’s favorite colors, so why not get a family or pet photo taken with the big guy among the greens during the Greensboro Council of Garden Clubs’ annual event? Plants, gardening gloves and pecans will also be available for purchase. $25. 222-4 Swing Road, Greensboro. Info: email gcgclubs@triad.twcbc.com or call 336-282-4940.

HOLIDAY OPEN HOUSE. 1–4 p.m. Celebrate the season at the Annual Holiday Open House with music, cookies, demonstrations and a Santa visit. Free. High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.

December 3, 10, 17

GOT TALENT? 7–10 p.m. Show off your singing chops, play a little ditty or share other performative gifts at Revolution Mill’s Got Talent; come prepared for a Christmasthemed event on Dec. 3. Free. Grapes and Grains Tavern, 2001 Yanceyville St., Greensboro. Info: grapesandgrainstavern.com.

December 3

HIGHLAND ROCK ORCHESTRA. 7 p.m. Celebrate the season with an annual concert featuring a mix of rock and classical music, dazzling lights and powerful storytelling.

PHOTO CREDIT: CAROLINE ALMY, 2020

Free, donations welcome. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.

December 4–9 & 13–20

CAROLINA CHRISTMAS TRAIN. 5:30 & 7:15 p.m. Climb aboard and take a festive, sparkling journey that winds through the heart of the state, complete with holiday songs, twinkling lights and a visit from Santa. Tickets: $49+. Starworks, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: acwr.com/excursions.

December 4, 11, 18

FAMILY NIGHT. 5–7 p.m. Enjoy an artdriven evening with family and friends in the studios. Free. ArtQuest at GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events.

December 4

READING THE WORLD. 7 p.m. Discover contemporary authors’ works in translation, such as this month’s selection — Georgi Gospodinov’s dystopian novel, Time Shelter, winner of the 2023 International Booker Prize. Free. Online. Info: scuppernongbooks. com/events/calendar.

December 5–31

WINTER SHOW. GreenHill Center for NC Art’s annual Winter Show returns, featuring North Carolina artists’ works for purchase and viewing. Tickets: Dec. 5 First Choice VIP Experience, $1,000; Dec. 11 Collector’s Choice opening gala, $140; Dec. 12 on, free. Greensboro Cultural Center, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/ winter-show-2024.

December 5&12

ARTIST TALK. 5:30 p.m. Artists from across the country stop in Greensboro to discuss their creativity. On Dec. 5, hear Portland, Or., sculptor Pete Beeman, known for his kinetic and interactive works; on Dec. 12, Adam Buente, Indianapolis, Ind., founder of Project One Studio, discusses connection through art. Greensboro History Museum, 130 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway. org/events.

December 5

CELTIC CHRISTMAS. 7:30 p.m. A Taste of Ireland delivers a night of music and jigs that celebrate the holidays. Tickets: $35+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.

December 6–22

IMMERSIVE HOLIDAY BAR. Little Brother Brewing transforms into “Little Saint Nick,” an immersive holiday pop-up experience featuring floor-to-ceiling holiday decorations, themed cocktails, snacks and beer. Free, registration required; ages 21+ only. Little Brother Brewing, 106 W. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: littlebrotherbrew.com/saintnick.

Nutcracker

December 6-8

Steven Tanger Center

December 6–8

NUTCRACKER. Times vary. UNCSA students dance the classic holiday ballet. Tickets: $35+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: uncsa.edu/performances/ index.aspx.

December 6

FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS. 5:30–9 p.m. Enjoy live entertainment — from carolers to Santa — and food-vendor treats along Elm Street as you await the community tree lighting. Free. Center City Park, 200 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/ downtown-in-december.

TROUBADOURS. 6:30–9 p.m. Enjoy a night of festive music during the annual Troubadours’ Christmas Concert, which benefits Room at the Inn, an organization that provides housing and programming to single, pregnant women and single mothers. Free, suggested $10 donation. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: troubadourconcert.org.

HOLIDAY SHOPPING EXTRAVAGANZA. 6–9 p.m. Peruse artisan-made gifts or create something fun for someone you love at Artquest. Free. GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info:

greenhillnc.org/events.

PICKWICK PORTFOLIO: POST SCRIPT. 5:30–7 p.m. On the first Friday of each month, gather with other creatives to discuss and implement the making of a DIY, selfpublished community newspaper, built with the materials and accoutrements you and others provide. Free. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/events/calendar.

JAZZ QUARTET. 7:30–9:30 p.m. The HR Department, a jazz quartet formed by Weaver Academy students, plays tunes from A Charlie Brown Christmas. Free. Grapes and Grains Tavern, 2001 Yanceyville St., Greensboro. Info: grapesandgrainstavern.com.

December 7–22

SEAGROVE OPEN HOUSE. Weekends only, visit various Seagrove area potters to shop and enjoy special events during the three weekends leading up to Christmas. Free. Seagrove area. Info: discoverseagrove.com/events-all.

December 7–8

THE NUTCRACKER BALLET. Times vary. The Dance Center of Greensboro presents its telling of the classic holiday story. Tickets: $30.69. High Point Theatre, 220 E. Commerce Ave., High Point. Info: highpointtheatre.com/events.

December 7

HOLIDAY PARADE. Noon–2 p.m. A parade featuring holiday and character balloons floats through Downtown Greensboro. Free. Church, Market and Greene Streets, Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/ downtown-in-december.

HOLIDAY KICKOFF. During and after the downtown holiday parade, you can hit the history museum for its launch of the Mousetastical Adventure mouse hunt. Free. Greensboro History Museum, 130 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: greensborohistory. org/events.

THE MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL. 9 a.m. Enjoy free popcorn, a festive singalong and a screening of the children’s holiday classic film. Free. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/ events.

CANDLE DIPPING. Noon.–4 p.m. All ages are welcome to drop in to learn the antiquated art of candle dipping. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.

CHORAL CONCERT. Triad Pride Men’s and Women’s Choruses celebrate the season with a repertoire of holiday tunes at their annual winter concert. Tickets: $20+. Congregational Church, 400 W. Radiance Drive, Greensboro. For info and details about High Point and Winston-Salem performances: triadprideperformingarts.org.

WRAPPED IN BRASS. 7:30 p.m. The North Carolina Brass Band plays hits of the holidays with featured soprano Lindsay Kesselman. Tickets: $5+. Huggins Auditorium, 815 W. Market St., Greensboro. Info: ncbrassband.org.

TWITTY & LYNN. 7:30 p.m. Enjoy a tribute to the legendary country stars Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn, including some of their fav holiday tunes. Tickets: $29+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.

MAKE THE YULETIDE GAY. 8 p.m. Celebrate the holidays with Flamy Grant, Jennifer Knapp and Crys Mattews. Tickets: $20. Flatiron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: Flatiron.com/events

HOLIDAY MARKET OPENS. 9 a.m.–8 pm. Shop from thousands of handmade blown glass ornaments plus holiday decor. Free. Starworks Exhibition Gallery, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: starworksnc.org/ starworks-events.

December 8&9

TIDINGS. 3:30 p.m. Sunday, 7:30 p.m. Monday. Bel Canto Company and Gate City Voices bring glad tidings through song. Tickets: $5+. Christ United Methodist Church, 410 N. Holden Road. Info: choralartscollective.com/events.

December 8

MADE 4 THE HOLIDAYS. 11 a.m.–4 p.m. Shop a juried show of makers and artisans selling handmade wares such as jewelry and pottery. Greensboro Farmers Curb Market, 501 Yanceyville St., Greensboro. Info: facebook. com/gsofarmersmkt/events.

JINGLE JOG. 2 p.m. Run in the annual 5K or shorter fun run through Downtown Greensboro. Start at 117 W. Lewis St., Greensboro. Info: runsignup.com/Race/NC/ Greensboro/DowntownJingleJog5K.

LESSONS AND CAROLS. 7–8:45 p.m. Greensboro College presents its annual festival, including a candlelit Advent service. Free. The Hannah Brown Finch Memorial Chapel,

Jingle Jog

December 8

Downtown Greensboro

College Place, Greensboro. Info: greensboro. edu/academics/arts/performance-calendar.

December 10–15

ELF. Times vary. Enjoy the Broadwaymusical retelling of a modern classic, where Buddy, a human who identifies as an elf, goes through hilarious antics on a quest to meet his real dad. Tickets: $33+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.

December 10

HOLIDAYS AT BLANDWOOD. 6 & 7:30 p.m. Enjoy a candlelit tour of the mansion followed by carols around the historic Morehead pianoforte. Tickets: $45. Blandwood Museum, 447 W. Washington St., Greensboro. Info: preservationgreensboro.org/events-1.

CHORAL SOCIETY OF GREENSBORO. 7–9 p.m. As part of the City Ensemble Concert season, enjoy a moving choral performance of Handel’s Messiah. Free, donations appreciated. Odell Building, 815 W. Market St., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).

December 11–31

GINGERBREAD DISPLAY. Before the cookies crumble, walk through a neighborhood of gingerbread houses. After viewing them, vote for your fav from creations designed and built by local teams, organizations and individuals, with all proceeds going to the Salvation Army. Free to view, vote by making a kettle donation. Grandover Resort & Spa Lobby, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: facebook. com/GrandoverResort/events.

December 12–15, 19–22

A LOCAL CAROL. New York Times bestselling author and Winston-Salem native Charlie Lovett shares his stage adaptation of A Christmas Carol. Tickets: $14.50+. Reynolds Place Theatre, 251 N. Spruce St., Winston-Salem. Info: ltofws.org.

December 12–15

NUTCRACKER. Times vary. The Greensboro Ballet presents its annual production of the classic holiday ballet. Tickets: $20+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: greensboroballet.org/ the-nutcracker.

December 12

HOT GLASS, COLD BEER. 5:30–8 p.m. Enjoy glass blowing demonstrations while grooving to the tunes of Colin Cutler. Tickets: $5. Starworks Exhibition Gallery, 100 Russell Drive, Star. Info: starworksnc.org/ starworks-events.

December 13–15

A CHRISTMAS CAROL: THE MUSICAL. Times vary. High Point Community Theatre presents its 10th annual musical retelling of Charles Dickens’ holiday classic. Tickets: $27.49+. High Point Theatre, 220 E. Commerce Ave., High Point. Info: highpointtheatre.com/events.

December 13&14

ANDY FORRESTER. 8 p.m. Known for his Dry Bar Comedy Special, Forrester has been making audiences laugh for over 23 years. Tickets: $15. The Idiot Box, 503 N. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: idiotboxers.com.

December 14–15

TEA WITH CLARA. Times vary. Complete your Greensboro Ballet Nutcracker experience by sipping tea or punch, munching on treats, grabbing a goody bag and posing for pics with the one-and-only Clara. Tickets: $30. Renaissance Room at the Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: greensboroballet.org/tea-with-clara.

December 14 & 21

CANDLELIGHT & CAROLS. 7 p.m. Inspired by the Moravian Lovefeast, the Burlington Boys Choir presents a candlelit evening of carols and poetry while you enjoy coffee and sweet buns. Free, reservations

calendar

required. Old Brick Church, 3699 Brick Church Road, Burlington. Info and reservations: burlingtonboyschoir@hotmail.com.

December 14

SANTACON BAR CRAWL. 3–9 p.m. Dress in a festive costume or ugly sweater to bar hop through downtown. Tickets $15+. Boxcar Bar + Arcade, 120 W. Lewis St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/ downtown-in-december.

JAZZ WORKSHOP. 3–4:30 p.m. Bring your own instrument and music-loving pals to a jazz-and-swing workshop featuring classic holiday tunes. Free. The Music Academy of North Carolina, 1327 Beaman Place, Greensboro. Info: musicacademync.org.

RUNNING OF THE BALLS. 6 p.m. “The Greatest 5K(ish) in the History of the World” runs or walks beneath the glittering globes illuminating Sunset Hills. Registration: $55; youth, $26. Start at the intersection of Rolling Road and the Sunset Hills Greenway, Greensboro. Info: therunningoftheballs.com.

CHRISTMAS IN THE CROWN. 7 p.m. Cap off your Christmas season with the swing, playfulness and humor of Chad Eby and Ariel Pocock. Tickets: $14+. In the Crown at the Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.

STARS, LIGHT, AND WONDER. 3 p.m. The Greensboro Youth Chorus presents its winter concert, featuring a diverse array of songs around the themes of hope, joy and connection. Free. Tew Recital Hall, 100 McIver St., Greensboro. Info: choralartscollective.com/ events.

KERNERSVILLE YULETIDE. Celebrate at this all-day family-friendly event, which includes Victorian holiday tours at Körner’s Folly; a hometown Christmas, holiday village and ice skating at the Kernersville Museum; and an evening display of blooms at the Paul J. Ciener Botanical Garden. Kernersville. Info: kornersfolly.org/visit/event-calendar.

December 15

NIGHT BEFORE. 3 p.m. Enjoy a special-guest performance of the Greensboro Youth Chorus as they join Bel Canto Company in a retelling of ’Twas the Night Before Christmas. Free. Van Dyke Performance Space at the Greensboro Cultural Center, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: choralartscollective.com/events.

NITRO CIRCUS. 7:30 p.m. This jawdropping show will thrill BMX fans of all ages with unbelievable stunts, dynamic

2024 Weymouth Wonderland: A Season of Stories

DECEMBER 7 & 8:

Wonderfest & Market

10:00-5:00 pm

Tour the Boyd House decorated for the holidays, buy holiday decor in the Holiday Shoppe, grab a treat and a warm drink from our Bake Shoppe, visit Santa, shop local vendors and artisans, enjoy popular area food trucks, watch live performances from local musicians and dancers. Fun for the Whole Family!

Sponsored by FirstBank and Brooks & Grace Rentals

The Boyd House will remain open and available for self-guided tours and to see the decorations from December 9 - December 27. Boyd House hours are Monday - Friday 10 am - 4 pm. Open to the public.

Chamber Sessions

Join us on Sunday, December 15, 2:00 pm: Friends of Weymouth Holiday Concert

performances, boundless energy and nonstop excitement on wheels. Tickets: $21.50+. First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/events.

December 16–23

HOLIDAY MOVIES. Times vary. From classics including White Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life to not-so-old hits such as Elf and A Madea Christmas, enjoy an array of holiday films. Tickets: $8. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.

December 16

CONCERT BAND. 7–9 p.m. Greensboro Concert Band performs a world premiere as well as works by Gershwin and Grainger. Free, donations accepted. Van Dyke Performance Space, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: creativegreensboro.com.

December 19–22

DISNEY ON ICE. Times vary. Mickey and Minnie Mouse rock the DJ turntable as a cast

of boogying Disney characters glides through a disco-worthy adventure. Tickets: $20+. First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/events.

December 19

OPEN MIC. 6 p.m. Writers of all genres are invited to read from their original works for five minutes at “a very cool monthly open mic” held on the third Thursday of each month. Free. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks. com/events/calendar.

December 20

KENYON ADAMCIK. 8 p.m. After realizing his true calling early on in high school, this comedian launched his stand-up career and has been featured at the New York Comedy Festival. Tickets: $7.50+. The Idiot Box, 503 N. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: idiotboxers.com.

CHRISTMAS JAM. 7:30 p.m. Groove into the holidays with American funk group Hobex and special guests Tom Mackell and Farewell

Friend. Tickets: $20+. Flatiron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: Flatiron.com/events

December 21

SCOTTISH FAIRE. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Free. Dress in costume and learn how to traditionally prepare for the Scottish New Year’s Eve, aka Hogmanay. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org.

DRAG QUEEN CHRISTMAS. 8 p.m. Nina West hosts the 10th anniversary of America’s longest-running drag show. Tickets: $48.31+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.

December 20–22

HIGH POINT BALLET. Times vary. Enjoy The Nutcracker or the designed-for-kids version, The Land of the Sweets. Tickets: $25.35+. High Point Theatre, 220 E. Commerce Ave., High Point. Info: highpointtheatre.com/events.

December 26–31

HAMILTON. Times vary. Featuring a

1738 Battleground

LADIES CLOTHING, GIFTS, BABY, JEWELRY, GIFTS FOR THE HOME, TABLEWARE, DELICIOUS FOOD

score that blends hip-hop, jazz, R&B and Broadway, Hamilton tells the story of America’s founding father as you’ve never heard it before. Tickets: $49+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.

WEEKLY HAPPENINGS

SUNDAYS

BARRE CLASS. 10 a.m. Strengthen, tone and stretch your way into the week. Tickets: $10. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.

TUESDAYS

PELVIC HEALTH YOGA. 8:30–9:30 a.m. This Vinyasa-style flow class works toward lengthening and strengthening the pelvic floor and surrounding muscles. Free, registration required and donations accepted. Triad Pelvic Health, 5574 Garden Village Way, Greensboro. Info: triadpelvichealth. com/classes.

WEDNESDAYS

LIVE MUSIC & PAINTING. 6–9 p.m. Evan Olson and Jessica Mashburn of AM rOdeO play covers and original music while artist-inresidence Chip Holton paints. Free. Lucky 32. 1421 Westover Terrace, Greensboro. Info: lucky32.com.

THURSDAYS

JAZZ AT THE O.HENRY. 6–9 p.m. Sip vintage craft cocktails and snack on tapas while the O.Henry Trio performs with a different jazz vocalist each week. Free. O.Henry Hotel Social Lobby, 624 Green Valley Road, Greensboro. Info: ohenryhotel. com/o-henry-jazz.

THURSDAYS & SATURDAYS

KARAOKE & COCKTAILS. 8 p.m. until midnight, Thursdays; 9 p.m. until midnight, Saturdays. Courtney Chandler hosts a night of sipping and singing. Free. 19 & Timber Bar at Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.

MARION

FRIDAYS & SATURDAYS

LIVE MUSIC. 7–10 p.m. Enjoy drinks in the 1808 Lobby Bar while soaking up live music provided by local artists. Free. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.

SATURDAYS

YOGA. 9:30 a.m. Don’t stay in bed when you could namaste in the spa studio. Tickets: $10. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.

WATER AEROBICS. 10:30 a.m. Make a splash while getting a heart-pumping workout at an indoor pool. Tickets: $10. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.

BLACKSMITH DEMONSTRATION. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Watch a costumed blacksmith in action as he crafts various iron pieces. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org. OH

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As we approach the holiday season, please consider donating to Senior Resources of Guilford. Your generous gift, no matter the size, will have a significant impact on the lives of our senior neighbors here in Guilford County.

To make a donation, there are multiple convenient options available. You can simply scan the QR code provided or visit our website at https://www.senior-resources-guilford.org/ to make an online donation. If you prefer to donate by cash or check, you can mail it to the following address:

Senior Resources of Guilford POBOX21993•Greensboro,NC27420

1401 Benjamin Parkway • Greensboro, NC 27408 336-373-4816 Fax: 336-373-4922

921 Eastchester Drive, Ste 1230 • High Point, NC 27260 336-883-3586 Fax: 336-883-3179

www.senior-resources-guilford.org

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Call us today at 336-652-3415 to schedule your personal appointment.

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Life is better with more options.

Choosing a life plan community is a uniquely personal decision. So it’s important to have the right options to fit your lifestyle. That’s why we created Kintura.

Nonprofits Brightspire and The Well-Spring Group — two robust leaders in senior living — have merged to o er five distinctly wonderful life plan communities. Each community features a variety of delightful dining options, engaging wellness programs and beautifully appointed independent living homes. It’s all about having more opportunities to live the life you imagine.

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Schedule your tours today. Visit our communities online to set up in-person tours and see which community is right for you.

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Twin Lakes Community is a neighborhood where longtime friends are as important as longterm care. Where independence is treasured. And where the transition isn’t about what you give up, but what you’ve gained. You’ll discover we’re more than a Continuing Care Retirement Community. Twin Lakes is a place where you can live life how it matters to you.

If you or someone you know suffers from dizziness or imbalance, intervention in key. There are steps you can take to improve your balance and decrease chances of falling - and we can help! Our staff of skilled physical therapists will create a program specifically tailored to your needs, so you can regain your footing, your confidence, and your freedom.

GreenScene

Triad Local First’s Community Table “A Night at the Savoy” • Cadillac Service Garage

October 6, 2024

Mr. and Mrs. Milton Kern

Alison Dodge, Amy Kreimer

Raketta Brown, Jamilla Pinder, Shinika Mckiever, Tameka Hughes

Robin & John Davis

Mr. and Mrs. Lacken

Joel Hage, Grace Ausley

Astrid Mesa, Cheryl Pressley, Nikki Corbett

Wendee Cutler, Richard Gantt

Steve Scott, Peter Hrycaj

Andrew Egbert, Caron Dover, David Smith, Gayle Stancil

Kim & Bassam Smir

Rudolfo Cerda, Aileen Cerda, Claudia Tapia

Cheryl Pressley, Alice Klug

Kareemah Hogan, Xandre Brown

Revolution Mill

October 10, 2024

GreenScene

ArtTaste Salon

GreenHill Center for NC Art

Wednesday, September 6, 2024

Daria Pimenova, Dana Koval, Sharon Shoaf

Edie Carpenter, Isabel Lu

Gigi Renaud, Beatrice Schall Hope & Robin Carter

Steve & Carole Loflin

Kelli Coley, Jamie Stone

Ann and David Raper

Ann & Brian Harrell, Kathryn Shields, Kathryn Troxler

Joyce Kemmerer

Beatrice Schall, Eric Wisco

Billy Cone, Martha Ruffin

Sharon Shoaf, Dana Koval, Robin Carter

GreenScene

Breakthrough T1D Walk

Triad Park

Saturday, October 26, 2024

Photographs by Lynn Donovan

Cami McLaughlin, Emma Myers, Leah Aust, Kaylee Crider

Lauren Boyles, Courtney Latourrette, Danielle Hayes

Ariana Platerpayne, Naomi Tate, Emma Walker

Sadie Jae (dog), Shelby, Stella & Sophie Kline, Debyn, Quinn & Sloan Vanderpoll, Eleanor Bascom

Van Denton, Christina Campbell, Brittany Carroll, Rider (dog), Eleanor Schaffner-Mosh, Katie Nordeen

Katherine Saucedo, Jacob Rockwell, Mike Rockwell, Gerlie San Mateo, Rily Thomas, Dustin Thomas, Jenn Thomas

Emily Williams, E.K. Goebel, Brittany Carroll Pat Stovall, Lindsay Burkart

Sean Strickler, Christina Campbell, Eric Campbell

Eleanor Schaffner-Mosh, Emily, Reece & Rose Wagoner

Miriam Anne Stewart, Grace McPhail, Cali McPhail

Beth & Trent Sutherland, Rob & Eva Mothershead, Buff Perry

Team HICAPS

Taylor’s Turbos

Team Carroll

Lorraine Dolds, Leslie & Roger Hart, Vince Von Rueden, Justin & Ashley Golds, Payton Von Rueden, Ryan Von Rueden, Addison Cook

By Cassie Bustamante

A Tooth Fairytale

Straight from the mouths of babes

Once upon a time,

a little boy named Wilder lived with his family in a wee brick house situated deep in the enchanted forest of Starmount. His father, Christoph, was a kind and hardworking man who traversed the land each week to to ensure that fellow countrymen would have plentiful CAVA pita chips. His fair, raven-haired mother, Cassandra, wove stories together for the townspeople’s entertainment.

One Sunday evening, huddled around the kitchen table with his mother and father, Wilder pushed away his plate of warm, soft pita bread and steaming lentils.

“My tooth is wiggling,” he lamented.

“Oh, ‘twill soon fall out!” his mom exclaimed, clapping her hands together in glee.

Little Wilder’s eyes welled with tears. “Will it hurt?”

“No, my son,” quoth Christoph. “Alas, it happens to all of us. But I bear good news! New teeth doth grow in their place. Just look at your mother’s beautiful smile!”

Blushing, Cassandra grinned for her beloved. “And,” she leaned in and whispered, “if you put your tooth under your pillow, the Tooth Fairy will bestow upon you a gift.”

The next morning just before the golden sun rose above the trees, Christoph loaded his trusty steed, Ford, and promised a safe return. But, of course, that very evening as Wilder was brushing his teeth like all good boys do, he felt something strange. With his elfin finger, he plucked something white and wondrous from his mouth and beheld it in his open palm.

“Your tooth!” Cassandra exulted!

He burst into a fit of giggles. “The Tooth Fairy is coming tonight!!!”

His mother dressed the excited child in his bedclothes and tucked him in. “Sleep well, my love,” she said, “for the fairy only visits sleeping children.”

But lo, the Tooth Fairy, who should have known this day would soon be upon her, was ill prepared, yet determined to make

her first visit extra special. Little boys love insects, she thought, but fireflies were out of season. As luck, or perhaps magic, would have it, she reached into her drawstring pouch and pulled out a 5-pound gold coin — the perfect first tooth prize.

She rummaged through cabinets, stumbling upon a strand of twinkling, tiny fairy lights. Ah, better than a hundred fireflies! Soon after, she discovered a clear purple unopened bottle of bubbles. Who doesn’t like bubbles?

Flitting into Wilder’s chamber, she snuck her spritely hand underneath his pillow and swiped the tooth. Pecking him ever so softly upon the cheek, she left her offering, glimmering magically, on his bedside table. Pleased with her last-minute merry-making, she patted herself on the back, fluttered her wings and dashed off into the starry night.

A few hours later, Cassandra was awakened by a sound. The fairy? But her door swung open and in walked a weary Wilder.

Tears streamed down his rosy cheeks as he sneezed and wheezed, tiny, iridescent bubbles emerging from his nostrils and ears. When he opened his mouth to speak, his breath smelled faintly of Dawn, his mother’s dish soap.

“The Tooth Fairy came,” he hiccuped, “and she brought me water that I don’t like!” Out came a mournful wail, followed by a string of bubbles that floated to the ceiling, where they popped in a rain of tiny, glimmering droplets.

Cassandra leapt out of bed and dashed to his room. The twinkling bottle sat with its lid ajar, easily mistaken for some sort of magic potion — or, for a parched and sleepy little one, a wonderful draught of water.

“Did you drink this?” she asked.

Wilder nodded sadly and coughed, another bubble springing from his lips.

After an ancient cure — animal crackers — to cleanse his throat, the effervescent coughing simmered down and he settled into bed, where he quickly dozed off into blissful slumber. Every few breaths, a small bubble escaped from his nose.

And every now and again to this day, if a bubble blows by you on a twilight breeze, you can be sure that, somewhere, Wilder is snoring softly. As for his mother, she’s still weaving fantastical yet mostly true stories together for the townspeople. OH