december
Greenville, SC
free!
skirt!is
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The Best Gifts of 2010: Exchanging sultry glances with strangers. Sunsets that slide down the sky like orange sherbet. Throwing caution to the wind. Sleeping naked in flannel sheets. Feeling the pulse in a baby’s soft spot. Finding a good restaurant in an airport.
90-Minute Massages. Instant-replay
kisses. ToyCamera
app.
Muscle memory. All planets aligning to allow you to get your way. The perfect skinny black pants. Winging it and landing safely. Applause. More applause. Replacing the soles in your Uggs. Kindle instant downloads. Finding something that was lost. A Friday Night Lights marathon. Saying GoodRiddance to your clutter at Goodwill. Walking the world like it’s your personal runway.
Unwrapping
the smile you’ve been saving for a special occasion and regifting it.
Cover copy by Nikki Hardin, Art by Trisha Krauss
“She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket.” Raymond Chandler
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Decemberw2010greenville
 
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december
features Resurrection
about skirt!
Stacy Appel................................................................................................10
Publisher Nikki Hardin editor@skirt.com
Taking Off, Staying Put
Greenville Editor Sheril Bennett Turner sheril.turner@skirt.com
Valley Haggard.........................................................................................13
National Art Director Caitilin McPhillips caitilin.mcphillips@skirt.com
Just Do It Elizabeth Hutcheson............................................................................15
Director of Sales Angela Filler angela.filler@skirt.com
Jump Start
Sales Executive Kathryn Barmore kathryn.barmore@skirt.com
Liz Borino....................................................................................................16
Jump Start
Graphic Designer Shelli H. Rutland
Cate Callaway..........................................................................................18
Photographers John Fowler 864.380-9332 promoimaging.com
Jump Start Mel Edwards.............................................................................................20
Sheril Bennett Turner Sales 864.357.3669
Jump Start Ashley Ruff.................................................................................................22
FAX: 864.751.2815
Fear Factor
sheMAIL
Stephanie Hunt.......................................................................................27
1708-C Augusta ST. #335 Greenville, SC 29605
The F-Word: “Is Reality TV Bad for Women?”
subscribe!
Jessica Wakeman....................................................................................28
For a one-year Subscription (12 issues), send a $35 check to:
Might As Well Jump Jen Rognerud............................................................................................30
skirt!Greenville 1708-C Augusta ST. #335 Greenville, SC 29605
ineveryissue
skirt! is all about women... their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. skirt! is an attitude...spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate.
From the Publisher/Editor...................................................................6 Letters..............................................................................................................7 Calendar.........................................................................................................8
skirt.com
skirt! is published monthly and
distributed free throughout the greater Greenville area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the publication. Unsolicited manuscripts must be accompanied by a selfaddressed, stamped envelope. Letters to the editor are welcome, but may be edited due to space limitations. Press releases must be received by the 1st of the month for the following month’s issue. All content of this magazine, including without limitation the design, advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2010, Morris Publishing Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher. SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC. 4
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Skirt of the Month...................................................................................9 Products.......................................................................................................23 He’s So Original with Tom Mobley..............................................24 skirt! Alerts/Brava/It’s a Shame...................................................29 skirt! Loves..............................................................................................31 24/7 with Jamie McDonough.........................................................32 Browse..........................................................................................................33 Planet Nikki................................................................................................34 skirt.com
DECEMBER 2010
~
~Issue
Stop being
sensible. Enjoy the ride instead of planning the landing.
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from the publisher
cover artist Trisha Krauss lives and
got news?
the leap issue Sometimes you just get tired of being timid, of being afraid, of always saying no to
working in New York City
Let us know what’s on your mind, respond to an article, or give us info on an upcoming event.
before moving to London.
Send letters or press re-
She is married to Antonio
leases to sheril.turner@skirt.
either to restart your life or resign yourself to never being fully alive. Or at least that’s
from Rome and has three
com, or mail to skirt!
how it’s been for me lately. Thanks (and I mean that completely) to a heartbreaking
step-children. In New York,
Greenville,
loss, my life recently cracked open so painfully that I realized I’d been running on
works as an illustrator in London. She spent 16 years
she primarily painted with acrylic on plywood, but due to the lack of three-
1708-C Augusta St. #335, Greenville, SC 29605.
the world. Sometimes you get to the point where your fears get so boring you can hardly stay in the same room with them. Sometimes you exhaust your repertoire of excuses for not doing something new and that’s the point when you have to decide
half a battery for years, getting a little more tired and numb every day. Staying safe in the world required excluding things that might cause deep hurt, but it also
contribute
meant excluding the possibility of deep happiness. I’m starting to turn the lights on overcoming debilitating stage fright ended up giving me so much fun and laughter
a stash of plywood in her
We are always looking for new writers and artists.
cellar and continues to de-
Our guidelines for
making that possible.) I’ve also made a shocking-to-me commitment to take a huge
plete the earth of fir trees in
writers and artists are
trip in 2011, one I always said I wanted to make, but something always intervened
the name of art. She is also
available online at skirt.com.
quarter-inch ply in the UK, she began painting with watercolor and ink. She does have
commissioned regularly to hand-paint customized family portraits on Russian dolls
Submit artwork or essays
in some of the scary places in my life. Emceeing a recent Pecha Kucha event and that I walked on air for days afterward. (Thank you, Charleston Parliament, for
and the ticket was never booked. There was always a reason not to go—too much
via e-mail to submissions@
work, not enough money, fear of flying, fear of feeling. All of those reasons are
skirt.com. Check out our
still there, but I’m not listening to them. Instead I’m listening to music morning to
website at skirt.com for
night, chanting Hare Krishna every day, counting my lucky stars and looking at
and sells them to clients all
giveaways, essays, and other
over the world. Her work
extras that aren’t in the
life from dangerously high heels. I’m still not as adventurous as I’d like to be, but a
has appeared in American
print edition.
friend recently described me as a closet extrovert, so maybe there’s hope. I’m sure all my old fears will keep jumping around corners and shouting “Boo!” at me, but
Illustration and Communication Arts, and she has exhibited her work in Rome and New York. trishakrauss.com
distribute Need additional copies of skirt!?
now I can’t think of a single benefit that not doing or daring ever brought me. And, yes, the ticket is booked.
If you would like to have copies of skirt! in your business, give us a call.
Nikki
publisher@skirt.com
from the editor Yep. Like a lot of people, I’m guilty of making some pretty crazy leaps in my life in the name of love, money and the pursuit of happiness. On these occasions, you just have to close your eyes and hurl yourself through that fiery ring and pray to God that your backside doesn’t get too scorched on the way through. This month, to celebrate The Leap Issue, we feature four fabulous females who have some fiery irons of their own in the furnace, our He’s So Original guy helping people relearn how to fly solo and our 24/7 gal who’s pushing the bike pedal to the metal. It is my fervent desire that wherever you’re headed in the coming year and however you plan to get there, that you have a leaping good New Year!
❉
skir t. c
v
is
it
s!
❉ skirt
skirt.com
m
m
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o
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sheril.turner@skirt.com
❉ skirt .c
Sheril
dearskirt! I was really inspired to see all of the women in this issue [November] who
I can always count on skirt! to understand what makes me happy. Thank you. I will always pick up the latest skirt! and I love the fact there is a magazine that celebrates women and the
started their own businesses doing something they love. I have been baking cakes for years, perfecting every recipe and design, but I’ve always been too afraid to start my own cake-making business. But if all these women can can’t I?! My new year’s resolution is write a business plan and get going. Maybe I’ll be in the pages of skirt! one day as a fabulous female baker! Anne Frances Germantown,TN
always said ‘because I’m a woman, I have
Keep up the good work, skirt! You’re the
to work twice as hard and because I was
only magazine in Memphis that I can’t
younger I had to work twice that.’ The fact
go a month without reading! There’s
of the matter is skirt! makes my life a little
nothing I love more than sitting down
bit easier! They always have the events
with a hot coffee and a new skirt!
that I want to know about. Their articles
Sarah Delfina Memphis,TN
the inspiration of what to reach for. Thank you skirt!. Keep up the good work. Amanda Hoey Founder of the Triad Area Film Community, Winston-Salem, NC
Way to go on this issue [November]! It was the perfect way to ease into the holiday season, reading about party planning and getting ideas for my own entertaining. My comfort zone is definitely in the kitchen cooking up something tasty for my friends and family. I can always count on skirt! to understand what makes me happy. Thank you! Kimberly Ferry Memphis,TN
Where else can an aspiring entrepreneur
WINTER day CAMPS
take their skills to the public, then why
accomplishments that we make. I have
on who’s who in the area help give me
The Children’s Museum of the Upstate
You’re the only magazine in Memphis that I can’t go a month without reading! There’s nothing I love more than sitting down with a hot coffee and a new skirt!
and up-and-coming businesswoman find folks who not only get the need for regular
TER WHO? Kids K5-5th Grade REGIS ! WHEN? 9am-5pm
NOW
COST? $66 per day
($60 for Museum members)
Pick your days! December 20-23 Storybook Science (K5-2nd grade) Little Chefs (3rd-5th grade) Pick your days! December 27-30 Polar Explorer (K5-5th grade)
Holiday Hours: Christmas Eve, Friday, Dec. 24, 9am-3pm Christmas Day, Saturday, Dec. 25, CLOSED New Year’s Eve, Friday, Dec.31, 9am-3pm New Year’s Day, Saturday, Jan. 1, CLOSED Join us for our NOON Year’s Eve 2011 Celebration as we welcome the New Year kid-style!
GIFT Certificates to
The Children’s Museum make great Holiday Gifts!!
doses of humor, but the savvy to educate and clue me in on other gals just like me? What other venues grasp the need for me to balance my feminine side with empowerment and confidence? Surely none in our region, at least that I’ve found. The very tone of your writing,
We’ve got fantastic gift items and educational toys and kits in The Museum’s More to Explore Store.
the sassy punch to your style, and the consistently encouraging foundation of every story and event speak volumes in a world filled with messages and media
Up!
The Children’s Museum of the Upstate
that criticize and cause ladies to question
300 College Street / Downtown Greenville, SC
their decisions and worth. Connie Lee Chesner Founder, Right Brain Discovery Winston-Salem, NC
Come Shop!
Have an opinion? Email sheril.turner@skirt.com. All letters to the editor must include the writer’s name and city/state.
864.233.7755 / TCMUpstate.org
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Decemberw2010greenville
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Dec
2-18
It’s December 1939. Gone with the Wind storms the silver screen as Hitler invades Poland. But the biggest concern of Atlanta’s Freitag family is Ballyhoo, a lavish ball for Southern Jewish socialites. Don’t miss The Last Night of Ballyhoo. centrestage.org
3-18
Excited to be on his first assignment to capture a human soul, young demon Wormwood turns to his incompetent but self-important uncle Screwtape for advice and assistance. The stakes are high in Screwtape by C. S. Lewis. warehousetheatre.com
10-19 Come see what everyone has been raving about! It’s the Upstate’s favorite holiday tradition, Christmas Spectacular 2010. greenvillelittletheatre.org
Parades
Holiday at Home
Catch the annual Christmas parades around town: Greenville on the 4th, Greer and Anderson on the 5th, and Spartanburg on the 14th.
Celebrate!
3-5. Don’t miss Christmas at Greer Station featuring the annual Christmas Tree Lighting, Breakfast with Santa and the Christmas Parade. cityofgreer.org
Yummy!
4-18. The St. Francis Foundation celebrates the holiday season with the Greenville community and area visitors through the St. Francis Holiday Festival. stfrancisfoundation.com
6,13. Build your own Gingerbread House! Everything you need to build your house will be provided. strossners.com
Shop Local 3-5. Art Crossing presents Winter Art Market, featuring original handmade art from over 40 local artists. artcrossingwam. blogspot.com
Skating Fun 9-12. Have a cool time with the kids! Don’t miss Disney on Ice: Princess Classics. bilocenter.com
Classic Fun 3-12. Annie, the timeless tale of Little Orphan Annie and America’s most beloved musical, is the perfect holiday show! ficiviccenter.org
Dynamic Duo 13. Country meets Christmas when Vince Gill and Amy Grant blend their voices in an inspirational performance that captures the spirit of the season. peacecenter.org
Dine in Style 4.Guests will enjoy the beautifully decorated home, a full meal, wine, various characters in period dress and entertainment during An Evening At The Kilgore. kilgore-lewis.org
Hot Spot! 16. Xbox 360 presents the Justin Bieber “My World” Tour. bilocenter.com
Holiday Harvest 4. At the Carolina First Holiday Harvest Market, stock up on seasonal produce, find the perfect holiday gift, or just bring the children for a photo with Santa! greenvillesc.gov
‘Tis the Season 17-19. Join the Greenville Symphony Orchestra for Holiday at Peace. greenvillesymphony.org
Read a New Book Month, National Tie Month, Rising Star Month, Christmas Bird Count Week, National Re-gifting Day, Cat Herders’ Day,
Universal Human Rights Month, Saturnalia, UNICEF Birthday, Festivus, Make Up Your Mind Day, International Ninja Day, World Aids Month 8
Decemberw2010greenville
skirt.com
Traci Daberko is an illustrator and graphic designer in Seattle, WA. See her work at daberkodesign.com.
Leona Wrapper Skirt Mary • 10 W. Lewis Plaza • Greenville • 864.232.5125
skirt.com
Decemberw2010greenville
9
We believe so firmly in all kinds of things that aren’t actually visible to the naked eye—gravity, bacteria, family obligations, impending disaster, friendship, deep space. We give credence to rumors, bosses’ evaluations, newspaper headlines, chain letters, gossip. Why, then, is it so difficult to have faith?
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Stacy Appel
hen I was in my early 20s, I lived in an in-law apartment in an ornate white stucco house perched in the hills. One day while finishing a late breakfast, I glanced idly out my kitchen window and noticed a vague fluttering under the camellias in the back garden. When I went out to inspect more closely, I was aghast to see that the tiny creature beneath the bushes was a baby hummingbird, barely alive. I ran for an empty shoebox, lining it with a soft fleece washcloth, then went back out to the bushes where I cradled the still-warm bird in my hand. “Please don’t die,” I implored her, placing her into the box. I brought her indoors and lurched for the telephone. “She’s still breathing,” I told a clerk at Your Basic Bird, a store on the other side of town. Her exquisite green head was still, but the tiny chest was moving. “Your hummer’s in shock. Feed it sugar water with an eyedropper,” she said, “and get it here as fast as you can.” I turned my bathroom upside down to find an eyedropper, and then tried siphoning the liquid into her minuscule beak, though I couldn’t be sure if she was even drinking or if I was just getting her all wet. Then I grabbed a jacket, my wallet, and a lid for the shoebox. I hurried down the street to the main thoroughfare, taking care not to jostle her more than necessary, all the while knowing she might die if she didn’t drink more sugar water soon. I didn’t own a car. Normally this didn’t faze me, but today it seemed like a cruel problem—now that the morning commute was done, waiting for the bus might take up to an hour. There are those who would drive right by a hitchhiker in torn jeans and a ratty denim jacket on a cold, overcast day, especially one who looked frantic, holding a mysterious box under her arm. I will always be grateful to the elderly man who stopped, traffic backing up behind him while I got in and placed the cardboard box gently on the beige leather seat of his Cadillac. I explained that I was trying to save a hummingbird. It sounded a little hokey, even to me. “All right, then,” he said, in a comforting tone, as if he was used to this sort of thing on a winter’s morning. When I gave him directions, he drove me straight to the bird store in his elegant car, all the way across town without asking a single question.
“Hope she makes it,” he said, smiling and tipping an imaginary hat at me before I got out of the Cadillac. I delivered my box across the counter into the hands of the experts, who promised to call me. I couldn’t even look inside the box, fearing she’d died on the trip over. I said a silent prayer on the bus going home. To my astonishment, the clerk at the bird store called me a few weeks later and told me that not only had my hummingbird survived, they’d been able to release her into the wild, as required by law. Somehow all the small acts of trust, strung together like rosary beads, had saved a life. Sometimes faith springs from greater despair and is ignited by more dramatic circumstances. On the evening that the rescue of the Chilean miners began, I watched, mesmerized, as the wheel above the mine spun to the left, marking another descent, then forward as the NASA-designed capsule shimmied upward to release one man, then another, from his underground prison. I couldn’t take my eyes from the miners as each emerged and saluted the crowd. Were they crying a little behind the privacy of their sunglasses? I studied their faces as they leaned into the embraces of those waiting in line to welcome them, marveled at their steady gait as they were helped onto stretchers. Once the youngest miner was safely above ground, I had to make myself turn off the television and go to bed, knowing it would be at least a day before all 33 could be brought to the surface. But I wished I could watch every ascent, hear each man’s story, celebrate along with the exhausted, exhilarated Chilean families. The outcome could easily have been different. It’s impossible to dismiss the “what ifs”: Suppose they’d eaten all the meager rations in the first few days, or contact with the outside world had not been made? What if they had fought each other or given up? Some of the miners felt they were on the brink of madness. One said he wrestled with the Devil, and was determined that only God would win. We believe so firmly in all kinds of things that aren’t actually visible to the naked eye—gravity, bacteria, family obligations, impending disaster, friendship, deep space. We give credence to rumors, bosses’ evaluations, newspaper headlines, chain letters, gossip. Why, then, is it so difficult to have faith? Real faith, it seems to me, is the hardest work there is. It develops slowly from complex, messy, exhausting struggles. Sometimes faith is a leap, but more often it’s putting one foot in front of another on an impossibly shaky rope bridge, trying not to look down. Once in a while it’s remembering the last person who helped, or the one prayer, large or small, that was finally answered. In the midst of our deepest despair, faith is trusting that the wheel that swings one way descending into the darkness will, however slowly, eventually turn in the opposite direction, bringing us up into daylight.
Stacy Appel is an award-winning writer in California whose work has been featured in the Chicago Tribune and other publications. She has also written for National Public Radio and is a contributor to the book You Know You’re a Writer When…. Contact Stacy at WordWork101@aol.com. 10
Decemberw2010greenville
skirt.com
The
Leap
Issue
Falling
and failing are part of earning your wings.
skirt.com
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The
Leap
Issue
Jump
like there’s no tomorrow and no guarantee of a safe landing.
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...I’ve found it’s not the responsibility of my zip code, or the people I share it with, to make me feel special.
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Valley Haggard
hen I was 13, I decided that my life was in need of a massive overhaul. As a Jewish kid at an all black elementary school, and then the only Democrat at a waspy Republican middle school, I knew that my particular case required more extreme measures than a new haircut or the right Esprit t-shirt. In the passenger seat of my mother’s minivan after a road trip in which we’d sold inspirational buttons at a Narcotics Anonymous convention in Wyoming, I turned to my mother. “It’s time I got my own apartment,” I said. Slow dancing with Pierre, a recovering drug addict, on the ballroom floor of the Marriot in Jackson Hole, had given me a taste of the world. I now knew it would be impossible to achieve my potential in our neighborhood stuffed with truckers, morticians, bingo-night callers and Dollywood fanatics. My mother laughed. “Why don’t you get your own ATM card or redecorate your room?” she suggested. But instead of cutting out wedding dresses to paper my walls, I cut out maps. Visions of becoming someone else by being somewhere else danced in my head. I pictured myself in exotic places with exotic men. I certainly didn’t want to marry Pierre—or anyone else—but being in the proximity of an accent outside of my school zone was intoxicating. I bided my time while preparing for take off until 20, when I flew across the Atlantic with a rucksack and a girlfriend, crisscrossing through Eastern Europe with a Eurail pass financed by the sale of my aging Honda Prelude that still had the remnants of an anarchist Barbie hot glue-gunned to the hood. We hopped ships, ran out on bar tabs and once, drank too much of someone else’s Southern Comfort to get off the train in the right country. We never had a plan outside of the moment. “Which beer?” or “which boy?” I believed that cutting myself out of one picture and gluing it on top of another would give me the context and definition I lacked on my own. However, adding stamps to my passport and notches to my bedpost only obscured the person I was trying to uncover. I flew home hungry for what I remembered to be the unpretentious expanse of the American West. Certainly it would be easier to reinvent myself in my own language. Alone and with friends, I zigzagged through the states via road trip, Greyhound, Amtrak and plane, stopping to live for a few months on a dude ranch, a farm and a cruise ship. But by the end of it all, I was devastated that the cowboy, the farmer and the deckhand had failed to bring forth my potential.
Sitting in my therapist’s office at the age of 23, my pockets stuffed with the cash I had earned scrubbing toilets in Juneau, I sobbed that ending up back in Virginia represented for me a deep failure on every level. “But Valley,” she said, “it is actually possible to lead a happy life in one place and still travel.” I have managed to achieve half of her prophecy. For the last 12 years, I have lived and worked out of the same house I grew up in, across the street from my mother. My neighbors are the same, but now I find them just as interesting as the counts, sailors and prostitutes that populated my street and imagination abroad. My passport atrophies in a desk drawer and my frequent flier miles total zero. But I’ve found it’s not the responsibility of my zip code, or the people I share it with, to make me feel special. I still take the occasional trip, but I no longer expect to find my identity waiting at the other end of the tarmac. My outer circle has closed in, but the inner life I thought I’d piece together on the road has had the time and space required to reveal itself to me from right here at home. I have been able to clean up my act, find God, write a new act, find a new God, write many drafts of a manuscript, cultivate till-death-do-us-part friends, find a man crazy and wonderful enough to marry, raise a son with thoughts, opinions and a kindergarten class of his very own. Saying yes to these commitments was easy. Sticking with them is not. Because it is in the not moving, the not packing the trunk for take off, that I have begun to shape the sort of woman I’d actually want to spend time with. Staying put does that, or, at least that’s what I tell myself. Now that I am so grounded, the unsolved mysteries of my life resurface like bodies that inevitably rise up from the bottom of the lake when the murderer is too dumb to properly weight down the dead. Daddy issues, mother rebellion, grandiose thinking and inferiority complexes are as near at hand as the corner grocery. The same old addictions wearing new dresses spring to the surface moments after I’m convinced I’ve buried them for good. On the road (or train or ship) there’s the beautiful clamor of outside stimulus to mask the more subtle upsets within. What is my purpose in life? Who do I think I am? And who cares anyway? Waking up on the same pillow across from the same man every morning brings to bear the same level of excitement as standing in front of an oak tree and watching while it grows a new ring. Progress is slow, but as the circles multiply, rewarding. I still itch, on a regular basis, to sell my car, quit my job, leave my husband and create myself anew in a remote locale with a different weather pattern. But each time I’m ready to go, I find that if I can just hold still a minute or a month, there is an answer that will allow me to expand the world I already have, rather than raze it to the ground.
Valley Haggard is from Richmond, Virginia, since 2004 and has worked as a Waffle House waitress, a button-maker, a cabin girl, a stewardess, a creative writing teacher and a freelance writer. She lives with her husband and son in the house she grew up in. skirt.com
Decemberw2010greenville
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The
Leap
Issue
When
in doubt... take a flying leap. At least you won’t land in the same place.
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People who want to do something knuckle down and do it.
S
Elizabeth Hutcheson
hortly after I first started writing, I landed a publishing deal to ghost write a non-fiction book. I was amazed. I was astonished. I was astounded. I grabbed the phone and called a writing coach as one might call a helpline—hysterically. “And your problem is what, exactly?” she sniffed. “I have to write the thing and I can’t. Where the hell am I gonna find 60,000 words within six months to fill a book with?” “The same place you found the proposal of course,” she said. “You’re a writer, aren’t you?” “That’s just it,” I whispered. “I’m not a writer. I’m a spoofer. The proposal is the longest thing I’ve ever written and even then I made most of it up.” “That’s what writers do,” she whispered back. “Make things up. But why are we whispering? On second thought don’t answer that. Just do it. Write your book. Starting today. Now. This minute. Forget everything and just do it. ” I did it. I signed the book deal, quit the day job, and told everyone what I was up to. “Oh, yes,” they said. “And you’re going to live on …?” “The advance for my best-seller-in-waiting,” I replied patiently. No one ever believes it can be done. But it can be done. It’s entirely possible to dump the day job, write a best seller and live off the proceeds. Much like it’s entirely possible to withdraw your life savings, toss them on to a blackjack table and win. People take these kinds of chances all the time and pull them off. But the chosen ones are few and far between and like all gambles there are some you win and some you lose. Moreover, if you throw financial security to the wind to labor down in the word mines, then that’s what you must do. Write the book. For days on end you’ll be glued to a blank screen in the total silence, feeling uncertain about everything except this: Complaining about writer’s block won’t cut any ice with your publisher and landlord. Then again, having backed yourself into a corner, you’ll have no choice but to write and to keep on writing. And so it was with me. For six months I rarely looked in a mirror, never wore make-up, and eyebrows formerly tweezed to arched follicle perfection morphed into a second hairline. My smoking habit escalated to incineration levels and fingernails, once seriously long and polished to shimmering perfection, were chewed to the quick. On the rare occasions I left the house, I wore a
hat disguising silver roots in hair previously tinted every four weeks. But what did I care? I was doing it, living my dream, and by the end I had finished my opus. Or so I thought. The publisher didn’t and chucked it back at me for re-writes and yet more re-writes before eventually consigning it to the reject pile. But that’s not all. The advance for the book was diverted to another writer to start over from scratch. I was gutted. I was distraught. I was mortified. I hadn’t felt this mortified since the end of my marriage not long after the birth of my daughter. But whereas the ex-husband couldn’t be seen for dust, there were piles upon teetering piles of draft manuscripts propping up the walls of my study waiting to be mowed down and destroyed. And so began the shredding of my beautiful creation. Only it wasn’t beautiful. It was ugly. Every so often I paused, read a few lines, blushed scarlet and resumed the rip-and-trash process with accelerated weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. But life goes on, nobody died, and here I am writing about writing. I’m sometimes asked whether it was worth the effort and I have to say yes. Yes, it was. Definitely. At a minimum, the experience taught me how not to write, for despite having done it, I didn’t just do it. I told everyone what I was up to first. Big mistake. Huge. Nightmares involving publishers and landlords breathing hellfire down the back of one’s neck is one thing; believing the world and its mother are chomping at the bit to tear strips off your back with “I told you so…” is something else again. As a result, I became self-conscious to the point of paranoia, and it showed in results quite rightly rejected. People who want to do something knuckle down and do it. They don’t waste time blubbering down telephones, waffling hot air about best-sellersin-waiting yet to be penned, or play-acting the martyr as I did. Lesson learned, I dumped the dramatics, found a part-time job to pay the mortgage, and started working on another idea—this time saying nothing to nobody until there was something to say. A year or so later I pitched an idea for a television series to Warner Bros., which bought it. Ooh la la! Unfortunately that’s as exciting as it’s gotten so far. As I type, it’s langushing in pre-production limbo. Still, it might hit the small screen one day and then again it might not. Who knows? All I know is it’s a step in the right direction, practice makes perfect (or in my case improves), rejection is par for the course and nothing gets done without doing it first.
Elizabeth Hutcheson lives in Dublin, Ireland. Writing under the name of Caren Kennedy she is co-author of Fake Alibis (BenBella Books 2009) and the creator of a television series currently in pre-production. She can be contacted at artinprint.com skirt.com
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Jump StartS
Liz Borino | Great Expectations When the northern winds blew Pennsylvania native Liz into town, they also blew some good tidings her way. This month, her first digital novel, Expectations (Lazy Day Publishing), hits the internet bookshelves, with the sequel Escape not far behind in 2011. Through her contemporary romances focused on today’s issues, Liz hopes her words will touch the hearts and minds of a large number of people, with a goal of working towards a more equal society for all groups. Liz will also be graduating from Hofstra University this month with a Public Relations Degree and a dream already in the making. “My goal is to be able to support myself on money made from my writing,” says the young e-novelist. Photo by John Fowler
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Jump StartS
Cate Callaway | The Big Easy When this former beauty queen graduated with a double major in only three years, then landed the perfect job in her hometown of Greenville, life seemed, well, perfect. “Although I was blessed with a wonderful job right out of school,” Cate says, “I knew it wasn’t what was really in my heart.” So come this January, this ambitious young miss will be following her heart— and a new career path—all the way to New Orleans. “It’s a huge leap for me because I have lived my whole life in the comforts of South Carolina. I know I will miss the beautiful mountains that surround Greenville, my wonderful college town of Carolina, and the Isle of Palms beach I have grown up on, but I am excited to begin the journey towards my Masters in Public Health in a city that is continuing to rebuild itself.” Photo by John Fowler
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Jump StartS
Mel Edwards | Truth or Dare Not so long ago, like many others, Mel found out that her job as a teacher was being downsized. About the same time, she realized that she had put her fitness on the back burner, neglecting her health while increasing her weight. Not one to mope, Mel dared herself to make some big changes. At Greenville Tech, Mel learned new skills to optimize her future earning potential. She also founded Votre Vray—meaning Your Truth— where through stories, workshops, writing and coaching she helps others claim their own truths and maximize their lives based on their strengths. As far as her health, Mel, who participated in The Biggest Loser 5k Challenge in Myrtle Beach, has lost 35 lbs so far with a goal of losing 1 lb a week until she reaches her ideal weight. “Sometimes leaps aren’t chosen,” Mel confesses. “Sometimes they’re the only way to live life on your own terms.” Photo by John Fowler
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Jump StartS
Ashley Ruff | Image Maker Ashley, the gifted graphic designer, photographer, and blogger behind the Image to Impact name, is getting ready to take the next big step—establishing and launching an online stationery shop catering to those who crave unique customized stationery and invitations, or a portrait package for any occasion. With a new blog/website already in the works, Ashley would like nothing better than to sell her work at a few boutiques in the area, with a long-term goal of owning her own storefront that would offer coffee and tea and a great atmosphere for women to hang out in. “ I’m taking a leap of faith to get my business up and running,” she says. “But I’m excited to see what the next year will bring!” Photo by John Fowler
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Tom Mobley helps with split decisions. Tom, a goodhearted divorce and family court attorney, is the driving force behind Mobley Law Firm along with his partner at work and home, wife Lisa. “I wanted to be a lawyer since high school and have never looked back,” Tom says. “Now after 20 years of divorce lawyering I still haven’t heard everything—although I have heard a good bit of it!” A family man, Tom is most proud of his three children, Allen, Elizabeth and Anna, and is always there to lend them his support. “Tom is an enthusiastic cheer dad who wore a pink skirt and wig at our daughter’s high school cheer squad dinner before state last year,” Lisa says. “They came in second!” What do you love about skirt magazine? “Keeping up with local people and businesses.” How do you feel wearing a skirt? “Sexy and uninhibited. I do it at least once a year. Women love it.” Photo by John Fowler
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What’s holding me back?
Stephanie Hunt
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU KNEW YOU COULDN’T FAIL?
You needn’t worry, this isn’t a typical “Dear John” letter. It’s a love letter from a secret admirer. A thank you note from a neighbor you never knew, a girl who walked the same downtown sidewalks you once walked, and now, on return trips back home, jogs down them grooving to your tunes.
Stephanie Hunt
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Fear Factor
If Route 66 is the Mother Road and Great American Highway, then Interstate 95 is the Mommie Dearest Road—the Great American Drag. But it’s the fastest route from Charleston, SC, to the nation’s capital, so my friend Madeleine and I set off on it in the still-dark morning, GPS dialed in to the Washington Mall. We passed car dealerships and stubbly vestiges of cotton fields, Hooters billboards and Pedro Sez signs. We logged the long miles: Fort Bragg…Newport News…Quantico...making I-95 feel like a connect-the-dots of the military establishment. The irony didn’t escape me as we made our way to the Keep Fear Alive rally. This spur-of-the-moment adventure went against all rational judgment. I had a million things I should have been doing, but instead I hastily packed, kissed the kids goodbye and took off to join the Million Moderates, hoping my presence might make some difference. The Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Keep Fear Alive was a major cultural moment that I didn’t want to miss, but it was hardly sane. Seeing fellow middle-aged adults dressed up as life-sized tea bags tends to brew a mellow “Is this what we’ve come to?” fear. Even so, I was giddily energized to be among throngs of folks speaking out—via costumes, pithy signs and physical presence—to bring a more reasoned voice to public discourse. I loved the irony, passion, creativity, humor, sense of daring, sense of possibility. I was moved by the palpable desire for change, the fierce clinging to optimism. The rally mocked the hysteria-hyped, terrorism-touting manipulation of American politics a la Glenn Beck and Fox News, but it also kept fear alive in the best possible sense. The crowd buzzed with the positive electric charge that comes from the fear of not stepping up, not speaking out. Fear can paralyze, polarize or mobilize, and I felt the latter. On the weary trek home as we retraced South of the Border signs, we debriefed the rally and listened half-heartedly to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I was thinking about fear, and its corollary, boldness. About what it takes to off-handedly say, “Hey, let’s stage a rally,” then lure hundreds of thousands to attend. About poor Stieg Larsson, who dedicated endless late nights to creating complex tales (about a fearless girl) without ever seeing them published. About my oldest daughter on the verge of momentous next steps, whom I’d left at home to write her own tale about who she is and who she wants to be—i.e., the dreaded college application essay—while I journeyed north to hang out with oversized human tea bags. Somewhere south of Richmond we passed a billboard, or was it a bumper sticker, posing the question: “What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?” I bristled. The question seems to pop up everywhere these days and typically makes me recoil. I resist its smug attempt to inspire. I know it’s meant to encourage Big Thinking, but it usually just makes me feel small and unaccomplished. As if staying on top of laundry, earning a decent income and occasionally finishing a book club novel (on time) isn’t enough. It’s also, with apologies to Robert Schuller (whom Wikipedia credits as the quote’s originator), a ridiculous question. If I knew I couldn’t fail, I’d invest heavily in the stock market, buy a lottery ticket, find a cure for cancer/Alzheimer’s/Lou Gehrig’s disease/hot flashes. I’d sing back-up for U2, ride in the Tour de France, let my hair go Helen Mirren gray, rebuild Haiti, erase the gender equity gap and wipe out poverty while I was at it. The real question isn’t a fantasy “what if” but a hard-nosed “why not?” The nitty-gritty challenge is asking where dreams, passion, talents and realistic abilities and/or constraints converge, and figuring out why in the hell I’m not going there. This has nothing to do with Schulleresque power of positive thinking and everything to do with hard questions, as in: What’s holding me back? Discipline? Lagging desire? Confidence? Laziness? My wardrobe? Not being on Facebook? Blaming fear feels too simplistic, and anyway, fear of failure is necessary; it gives meaning and significance to goals; it’s the gravity that keeps the ball in play and aspirations in orbit. Interstate 95, with its monotonous landscape and bland clumps of fast food joints and gas stations, reflects where I often find myself these days: Passing through, making good time getting from here to there, but not boldly exploring alternative routes and more daring byways. Not venturing down roads where I risk failing, hitting a dead end, or, just maybe, finally arriving where my heart has been nudging me all along. I got home from DC in time to proofread my daughter’s essay before her midnight deadline. I could read trepidation between her carefully wrought lines. She’s reaching for a school that attracts Rally-like multitudes of qualified applicants. I realized she was doing exactly what I long to do as well. She’s answering the question: “What do I need to do knowing I just might fail?” I gave my daughter and her essay my blessing; she hit “send.” Stephanie Hunt is a Mount Pleasant moderate (well, that’s debatable) mother of three girls and freelance writer. Her husband indulges her infrequent rally forays in exchange for Mavis Staples’ autograph—a souvenir from DC.
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? [ T h e F - Wo r d | F e m i n i s t s S p e a k O u t ]
is Reality tV bad foR women? Jessica Wakeman
Reality tV has all the makings of a feminist’s woRst nightmaRe, but i actually think it can be gReat
�
It seems like a lady can’t click the remote these days without surfing past disconcerting representations of her gender on reality TV: the mascara-streaked bridezilla screaming at her grandma; a dozen beauties in ball gowns batting their eyelashes at a total stranger; The Real Housewife who only shops and gossips; the pregnant 16-year-old girl. Just when you thought TV couldn’t get any trashier than Jerry Springer’s staged bouts of hair pulling, it got worse—much worse if you consider these shows are supposed to represent reality.
Fortunately, media critic Jennifer L. Pozner has thoroughly debunked the myth that reality TV is a true representation of its subjects. In her book Reality Bites Back: The Troubling Truth About Guilty Pleasure TV, Pozner explains how producers film a hundred percent of the time, but only use one percent of what they film on air. Therefore producers are able choose the narrative they want to tell by employing a tactic called “Franken-editing,” which means they edit different scenes together to fabricate a plot line that never actually happened, but makes for salacious viewing. They also purposefully cast flamboyant personalities who are “good for TV”—and high ratings. And viewers love it.
feminism.
Reality TV has all the makings of a feminist’s worst nightmare, but I actually think it can be great for
feminism. Reality TV makes our blood boil because we know these programs don’t show real women, with all our complexities and nuances and concerns. But when we see women depicted poorly time and again, they can be teachable moments for us. No one wants to listen to a lecture out of context, of course. But discussing these shows with our friends and family give us opportunities to offer a feminist analysis of pop culture in a way that’s sure to be received better. For example, 16 & Pregnant is a great opportunity to talk about why abstinence-only education is failing adolescents. Flavor of Love is a chance to ask why women of color can only be found on “reality TV” in a show giving sexual favors and performing degrading tasks for the attention of an aging rap star. America’s Next Top Model is an entry-point to ask why the cultural standard of beauty remains skinny. Any of the Real Housewives shows can be a launching point to discuss why women are encouraged not to trust other women. And the upcoming show Bridalplasty, in which brides-to-be compete in wedding-related competitions to win plastic surgery procedures as prizes, is the best opportunity we could ask for to question what society tells us about how a woman should look on her “big day.” It’s okay to watch trash TV—Pozner aptly calls it a guilty pleasure. I’m a feminist and you couldn’t pry me away from Millionaire Matchmaker or The Rachel Zoe Project if you tried. But when I see something on reality TV that couldn’t be more of a fabrication, I speak up. So the next time you’re watching 16 & Pregnant with your little sister, look at it as an opportunity for a teachable moment that it might have otherwise been awkward to bring up. Reality TV is not the least bit real, but it doesn’t always have to be bad for women.
Jessica Wakeman is a staff blogger for TheFrisky.com, where she writes about pop culture, politics and feminism.
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Decemberw2010greenville
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....sometimes love is more fun than agenda.
Jen Rognerud
T
he air was fire and prickly pears, sleeping summer orange groves and something musty. I could barely stay in the seat of Matt’s Alfa Romeo, wanting to crawl out the window and eat up the sky, the night spiced with stars that seemed pressing. This was my day one. Life in Sicily. So far, I didn’t miss America a lick. That’s not to say I wasn’t nervous. My decision clanked around in my mind like a rusty steel cube. When we reached the go-kart track my jet lag kicked in, and that unearthly feeling of imagined motion, like you’re still on the plane. I was tired, and my bed wasn’t yet my own. I’d never slept there. I couldn’t want for it. I suppose that helped. Matt pressed a cold bottle of Moretti into my hand and whispered, “Birra,” teaching me the Italian word. He asked me if I wanted to get in on a race. “What? No. I’m only here to watch,” I said. His friends, the single sailors, were more than happy to leave me out. To them, I was the enemy. I had come across the Atlantic to tame one of their boys. To this, I shrugged. I’d win them over eventually. Race after race, lap after lap, I watched, leaning against the chain link fence. I actually wanted to give it a try. I wanted to be that girl—the one who stepped out in blue jeans and red heels, the one with the messy ponytail, the one who ate up the track and made the men feel uncomfortable. L’Americana. Instead, I spent the night stroking maybe, wondering if I’d used up all my bravery just moving to Catania. I left what we’ll call a full and productive life in Boston, by a twenty-something’s standards anyway. I left in the middle of an expensive, indulgent MFA. I left a good waitressing job, good friends, and a side gig as a reader for an itsy bitsy literary magazine. I left it all for a boy I’d never lived in the same place as, the one I’d kissed years before and then tucked in the back of my mind. Sometimes I’m still ashamed of this. Women born in the ’70s roll through life under extreme pressure to be good little feminists, whatever that means. I knew it seemed backwards and desperate—leaving it all for a guy. Maybe. But sometimes love is more fun than agenda. Sometimes, you can’t help yourself. During the last race of the evening, they sent a small Italian boy out in a customized car. With his messy hair, unnecessary goggles, and adorably arrogant grin, this kid lapped my Navy boys three times. Every time he passed the pack, he tilted his head back and laughed or thrust his fist in the air, driving with one
hand on the wheel. You couldn’t help but love him. When he got out of his car, he revealed a broken leg, cast from toe to thigh. The crowd went nuts. He raised his scrawny arms in triumph. I wanted to bottle his sparkle, drink an elixir of his spirit. Seeing him made me desperate for a go. But it was, after all, the last race. The next morning, the limoncello sunshine buon giorno-ed its way into my new bedroom. The sheets were soft, the tile floor cool and dusty, and it felt like we were playing house. We made love and we made coffee—thick, muddy espresso in the stovetop macchinetta. The plan for the day was a beach in Siracusa with “the gang.” I couldn’t shake the shakes—my go-kart cowardice, my life spliced and unfamiliar, my whole village traded in for one man. And then, a beach full of topless Italian girls who effortlessly made my somewhat exotic looks a bit less-than. I had nothing in front of me, not a concrete goal to speak of. Just life, just love. I just had to find my nerve. Matt asked if I wanted to swim out to a big rock. The guys muttered things about jellyfish and great whites. I looked at Matt and asked, without words, “Really?” He shrugged and smiled, which I took to mean, “Maybe jellyfish.” I looked around. The Ionian Sea, a gelato stand, 50 blue umbrellas, and a fishing boat, beautiful girls naked without a hint of shame; and my very own feminist man, who I knew would let me have my tiramisu and eat it too. “Sure. Let’s do it.” With my breaststroke verging on doggy paddle, I followed Matt. I let myself trust spontaneity. I let the Ionian adjust my attitude. I still kept an eye out for fins. What can I say about that? You know who wasn’t built in a day. Or two. We climbed the great rock, laughing and shouting, sincerely dangerous waves slapping us up. This is stupid—I thought—this is fantastic. We reached the top, knees bloody and smarting from the saltwater. The view was insane—I saw it not in colors but in opportunity. I saw a highly active volcano and my own washed canvas. I saw that crazy kid with the broken leg. Yeah, I had his sparkle. “Now what?” I asked. Matt looked at the sea below and then back at me. Jump. I laughed nervously, looking for jellyfish, looking for Jaws. Did I know then that we would find ourselves in a good marriage? Did I think we’d have babies? Did I know that the rough beauty of this little island would provide endless inspiration for both? I did not. But, I took a chance. I held his hand. Sometimes, you gotta jump. Icy water, deep breaths; sunburned noses and warm red wine. My day two.
Jen Rognerud is a certified postpartum doula, part-time writer, and full-time mom. She is currently trying to give up, among other things, her Target addiction. Read about it at yearwithout.net. 30
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Ippolita Rock Candy Bangle ippolita.com
WeLove!
2011 Vogue Magneto Planner
Chinese Mahjong Set
Trade Route traderouteimport.com Angela Director of Sales
teneues.com Margaret
Mosaic Jewelry
National Editor
Laura K. Aiken laurakaiken.com Sheril Editor
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TWENTY-FOUR SEVEN WITH...
Jamie McDonough | Reedy Rider Occupation: Owner of Reedy Rides (reedyrides.com).
I still can’t get the hang of: keeping my mouth shut.
My passion right now: Putting people on bikes.
If I could live anywhere: I’d be at Hogwarts.
The worst idea I’ve ever had: I took a gymnastics class at age 34. (It was a 12 and older tumbling class.)
My best friend says I’m: ebullient.
My secret ambition: To be in a band.
My muse: finds me outside. My mother always said: “Women that strive to be equal to men lack ambition.” (Timothy Leary) Favorite restaurant: Bohemian.
Photo by John Fowler
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Favorite clothing line: prAna. My favorite feminist: Betty White. Always... yes, of course!!! Never... is that a dare? My life in 3 words or less: Enjoy the Ride! Read more at greenville.skirt.com.
This issue of skirt! was put together to the sounds of: The Original Mono Recordings Bob Dylan My California Beth Hart All is Wild, All is Silent Balmorhea Joy to the World Pink Martini
buy Next time you get a case of the dreads in a poorly lit dressing room, slap on a static-cling decal that says “You are beautiful” or “Confidence is beauty” to remind other women that a mirror doesn’t tell the whole truth. about-face.org
Page Turners www.queenmotorhome.com Patt Fero
When middle-aged best friends Leslie and Liz decide to buy a motor home and take off for parts unknown— sans husbands—it leads to multiple queenly adventures and discoveries for everyone involved. Can’t wait for the sequel to this fun book from this first-time Greenville novelist! Sheril Bennett Turner, Editor
learn NoCountryforYoungWomen.com is a multimedia project aimed at connecting women across generations and nationalities through the topic of their careers. By presenting personal testimonies in written, oral, and video form, the site promotes a community of individuals joined by the successes and struggles of the work-life balance particular to women.
follow We love the fake Twitter account for Rahm Emanuel. It’s f*#king genius. twitter.com/MayorEmanuel
bookmark If you keep a journal or want to get started, visit JournalingSaves.com for inspiration. You’ll find jumpstarts for your creativity, prompts, tips and interesting info on how journaling can make your life better.
visit TreeHugger founder Graham Hill is trying to radically reduce his footprint and live happily with less space, less stuff and less waste on less money, but with more design. He calls it “LifeEdited.” Get inspired at lifeedited.treehugger.com.
MuSIC TO WRAP BY
“Keith Richards’ unique looks and guitar licks make me weak in the knees...
Sleigh Ride Ella Fitzgerald Winter White Hymnal Fleet Foxes Mele Kalikimaka Bing Crosby Santa Baby Eartha Kitt All I Want for Christmas is You Olivia Olson
Decemberplaylist
Life Keith Richards
Keith Richards’ unique looks and guitar licks make me weak in the knees, so I can’t wait to read his autobiography. And since it’s “as told to” James Fox, author of White Mischief, one of my favorite books, I know it will be as mesmerizing as the cover. Nikki Hardin, Publisher
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planetnikki [ a visual journal ]
No Signal
When I parked my car in a city lot recently, I noticed a pair of angel wings drawn in chalk on the asphalt in the empty space next to mine. My rational self said,
“kids making graffiti,”
while my mystical self reacted with
“what if it’s a sign?”
A sign that someone I love is watching over me,
that there is more to this universe than smarty pants scientists know, that the world is actually
magical,
that iPhones aren’t the only way to send and receive messages, that there is so much sometimes a
silent
is required to
noise
in our lives that
signal
stop us
cold.
in our endlessly looping soundtracks.
Imagine...something I want my granddaughter to be adept at, so I’m sending her a banner to hang over her bed.
Rimbaud on the front of this notebook and Virginia Woolf on the back. It will either be inspiring or intimidating to use it. And I got the last one!
littleputbooks.etsy.com littledoeislove.com
basicfrenchonline.com
George Harrison produced and played on The Radha Krsna Temple CD in London in 1970. I love chanting along to the Hare Krishna mantra every morning. It resonates someplace deeper than my throat.
Nikki Hardin is the founder and publisher of skirt! magazine. She blogs at fridaville.com. 34
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I wear Rudraksha seed mala beads wrapped around my wrist to remind me of people I haven’t really lost but who have just disappeared into the next invisible world.
Consignment Chic
Smart fashionistas know how to save money and still look fabulous!
Augusta Roads Newest Home Consignment Store Accepting antique and new furniture, rugs, art and accessories.
We Buy Estates
O
Consign & Design
2118 Augusta St., Greenville (next to If It’s Paper)
864-236-5570
Mon.-Fri. 10-6: Saturday 10-4
www.ConsignonAugusta.com
Everything For Your Home
Christmas Open House! Saturday Dec. 4th 10am-3pm!
Furniture Lamps Rugs & Art Mirrors Home DĂŠcor
Home Couture Market Finds & Consign
HOURS Tues-Thurs 10-5 Fri-Sat 10-2
Interested in Consigning? We accept consignments daily No Appointment Necessary! .BVMEJO 3PBE (SFFOWJMMF t t XXX TPVUIFSOIPVTFQJUBMJUZ OFU
(BSMJOHUPO 3PBE r (SFFOWJMMF r (Behind CVS on Roper Mtn.)
Celebrating 7+ Years in Business!
Gently Used Furniture & Household DÊcor Can’t find that ONE special object to pull your design puzzle into place? Come to Hobo’s and let us help you pull it all together... at a price you won’t believe!
6QTDBMF $POTJHONFOU 'VSOJUVSF www.homeatlastinc.com Furniture Online & Updated Daily
New Hours on Monday
/ .BJO 4U (SFFS r
.PO 'SJ 4BU r 5VFT GO GREEN! Reuse, Recycle, Refurnish. 8FE 5IVST 4 #BUFTWJMMF 3E r /FBS 1FMIBN r
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Don’t buy cheap clothes. Buy good clothes, cheap.
now carrying maternity and plus size clothing Greenville’s designer consignment boutique. Located in McDaniel Village with Panera Bread and Coplon’s
1922 Augusta Street | 864.631.1919 | M-F 10-6, Sat. 10-5 | www.labelsonaugusta.com