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Greenville, SC
free!
skirt!is
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L e t ’s g e t L o s t .
Let’s shed some clothes, some carefulness, some winter camouflage. Let’s lose our bearings and set out for what we can’t see over the horizon. Let’s misplace our Monday-morning lives and lose track of time. Let’s plan a dozen vacations (whether we take them or not) and daydream about a ticket on the next jet to
Destination Unknown. Let’s disappear from Facebook, Twitter and texting—delicious life will take their places. And will we really miss them or be missed? Let’s escape our calorie-counting, moneygrubbing, status-seeking selves and find out who we used to be. Let’s drop out and look for Shangri-La—it’s a tourist-free mind trip. Let’s forget about yesterday and tomorrow for Just Today.
L e t ’s g e t l o s t t o g e t h e r. Cover copy by Nikki Hardin, Art by Alex Dalidis
“Half the fun of the travel is the esthetic of lostness.” Ray Bradbury
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WANTED:
big ideas.
F r o m p r a c t i c a l t o p i e - i n - t h e - s k y.
What would you do to improve your community? In 200 words or less, tell us the one thing you think Greenville needs and what you’ll do to help. You could be one of the profiles featured in the August issue of skirt!. [ 1 ] “I think we need a childcare co-op in the arts district…” [ 2 ] “Instead of TV game shows in doctors’ waiting rooms, why not meditation videos?” [ 3 ] “I have a great idea for a feminist art installation…” [ 4 ] “How about a public access channel for parenting education?”
Send your idea to sheril.turner@skirt.com before May 31. Please include your full name, street address, and a daytime telephone number.
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Publisher
Nikki Hardin editor@skirt.com National Art Director
Caitilin McPhillips caitilin.mcphillips@skirt.com National Editor
Margaret Pilarski margaret.pilarski@skirt.com
skirt! is all about women... their work, play, families,
Greenville Editor
Sheril Bennett Turner sheril.turner@skirt.com Sales Executives
Kathryn Barmore 864.525.9596 kathryn.barmore@skirt.com Denise Nelson 864.551.7295 denise.nelson@independentmail.com Graphic Designers
Shelli H. Rutland Shearer Wludyka Photographers
John Fowler 864.380.9332 promoimaging.com Sheril Bennett Turner
Sales: 864.551.7295 FAX: 864.260.1350
creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. skirt! is an attitude...spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate. Calendar Submissions Send information or mail to sheril.turner@skirt.com, or mail to skirt! Greenville, 1708-C Augusta St. #335 Greenville, SC 29605.
Letters to the Editor
Essays and Profiles
Working in a Cathouse
Anna Seip........................................................................................ 10 The Death Clock
Stephanie Fretwell-Hill............................................................. 13 Escape Clause
All letters must include the writer’s name and city/state.
Stacy Appel ................................................................................... 14
Writers & Artists
Profile: Anna Matusz
Our guidelines are available online at skirt.com. Submit artwork or essays via e-mail to submissions@skirt.com.
From Poland with Love........................................................... 16 Profile: Christine Selvaggio
Frequent Flyer............................................................................... 18 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 self-addressed, 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 © 2011, 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.
Women make more than 85% of all purchasing decisions.
Profile: Laura Rush
Whirlwind Romance................................................................. 20 Road Trip
Lorrie Goldin ............................................................................... 24 Women spend almost 2 of every 3 healthcare dollars.
Features
From the Publisher/Editor and Letters.............................6 Women control 2/3 of the nation’s disposable income.
Calendar.............................................................................................. 7 Don’t Miss.......................................................................................... 8 Skirt of the Month........................................................................ 9 He’s So Original with Victor Volskay ..............................22
Women influence 80% of all car sales.
skirt! Loves................................................................................... 26 skirt! Rules.................................................................................... 27 F-Word.............................................................................................. 28 May Survival Guide.................................................................... 29 skirt! Says....................................................................................... 30 Let’s Go............................................................................................. 31 Meet... Cindy Youssef................................................................. 32 Browse............................................................................................... 33 Planet Nikki..................................................................................... 34 skirt! Finder.................................................................................. 35
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M ay 2 0 1 1
The Escape Issue
Let’s run away, right now, today! To a cabin in the woods, a ranch out west, a castle on the Loire, a houseboat in Holland, or just a book and beach chair in your own backyard.
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Letters I first discovered skirt! when visiting Charlotte, Savannah, and Charleston.
From the Publisher
As a semi-retired boomer, it
theescape issue
took me a moment to “get it.” But when I did I was totally hooked. skirt! is a delightful combination of my generation’s ideals and this generation’s style. What a treat to discover it Cover Artist
here in Winston-Salem.
Alex Dalidis, a Greek artist,
Bonnie J. Doerr Winston-Salem, NC
has been in the advertising business since 1994. He has served in all ranks of the Creative Department, working for several multinational and Greek agencies. Alex has also
Your April issue was delicious—I was practically drooling by the time I
had his work displayed in art
finished it. Thanks for
collections and dedicated art
another fabulous issue. Next
exhibits. Currently, he is freelancing in the fields of illustration and design. He attended
time include some recipes so I can make a skirt!-flavored
AKTO Art College in Greece,
dish for dinner!
and he specializes in cartoon,
Karen Ellis Memphis, TN
image manipulation and digital illustration. His clients have included Coca-Cola, Nestlé,
I’m a Chicago native
Kawasaki and Peugeot, and he
and recent transplant to
has received gold and silver
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Memphis; I stumbled upon
Nikki
publisher@skirt.com
and a bronze medal in the
Memphis skirt! today,
New York festival. His
and I love this magazine!
philosophy? You’re only as
Yet another reason why
From the Editor
good as your last piece.
Memphis is growing on me!
If I had the time and money to escape farther than the South Carolina border, I think I’d like to go
JC Ellis Germantown, TN
skir t. c
to Australia where they seem to have it all—great beaches, killer wines, rugged manly men, colorful language…Ever since Crocodile Dundee, I’ve been intrigued with the Aussies and their take on the English language. Slang like “he’s got his wobbly boots on” (he’s drunk) or “useful as an ashtray on a
❉ skirt .
motorbike” (unhelpful person) or “beyond the black stump” (the back of nowhere). Although I didn’t have to travel to Australia to find our traveling locals this month, I did find some really interesting people on the go—including two of our gals who did live for a while in the Land Down Under. So
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medals in the Greek ad festival
When Lark, my seven-year-old granddaughter, was a toddler, her biggest dream was to move to a mythical place called The City, where she would have a briefcase, an apartment and no interfering parents. Already an old, sophisticated soul, she was determined to escape the suburbs, routinely filling a backpack with stuffed animals and demanding to be driven to her new life. As I write this, I’m getting ready to cram my laptop and unfinished work into a backpack and too many shoes and black clothes into a carry-on for a solo trip to New York City. I’ll set my alarm for Crack of Dawn for the inevitable 6am flight. I’ll lose my boarding pass at least twice before I get to the airport. I’ll be ready to cry because I haven’t had coffee. I’ll get to strip for security and then I’ll lose the race to get an overhead bin in front of my seat instead of at the back of the plane. Then I’ll get off at LaGuardia and take a hellishly expensive cab ride to Manhattan, where I will be ready for four nonstop days of living beyond my means, both financially and emotionally. I’ll escape my real life for a while and take on the sophisticated personality of my real name, Lloyd. Nikki, that stick in the mud, will be left at home microwaving a frozen dinner. Unlike Lark, I’m not insouciant about taking to the road, but I know that after it’s all over, I’ll be so glad I went. I will remember the eye candy instead of the exhaustion, the ideas rather than the irritation, the play I saw and not the fortune I paid for it. But right now, before the momentum of the trip sweeps me up and carries me along, I can only think with longing of my bed with its clean sheets and cloud-soft duvet, the windows open to the quiet night, a trashy erotic novel on my Kindle and nowhere to go, nothing to escape.
pack a bag, grab a window seat and mentally escape with us this month. Meanwhile, I think I might just chuck a sickie, put on my bathers, sunnies and thongs and head out for an arvo at the beach…
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perhaps even half way round the world to Oz.
Sheril Flew
The Coop
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A Child’s Haven is hosting its 2nd Annual Hoot ‘N Holler for the Haven, a casual, activity-filled event that is fun for people of all ages! Proceeds go to benefit young children whose development has been delayed by poverty, neglect and abuse. achildshaven.org
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Coaches 4 Character presents a special program for girls featuring role model Vivian Stringer, Rutgers University head basketball coach. coaches4character.com
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The highly anticipated annual BMW Charity Pro-Am presented by SYNNEX Corporation combines golf, celebrities, parties and Nationwide Tour pros for a truly unforgettable week on and off the course. bmwcharitygolf.com
Muy Caliente 5. The Carolina Ballet Theatre presents Emerald Evening— this year combining their local Dancing with the Stars with a celebration of Cinco de Mayo. carolinaballet.org
Art 13-15. Artisphere collaborates with other Greenville organizations to create the ultimate Greenville arts weekend combining visual, performing and culinary arts. artisphere.us
Best Fest 6-7. Greer Family Fest features live music, the Mitsubishi Anne Helton Creation Station, KidsZone, a food court, and over 100 vendors! greerchamber.com
Stamp It Out 14. Letter carriers will collect food items and deliver them to local food banks to help the hungry in our area. Find out more at helpstampouthunger. com.
GLOW 6-8, 13-14. Greenville Light Opera Works (GLOW) presents Johann Strauss, II’s Die Fledermaus (The Bat), a hilarious and charming work that is sure to please audiences of all backgrounds. greenvillelightopera works.com Kiss Me Kate 26-6/19. Expect plenty of laughs under the stars, as the Upstate Shakespeare Festival kicks off this year with The Taming of the Shrew. upstateshake spearefestival.org
Lucky Ducky! 7. Adopt a duck at the Reedy River Duck Derby and watch it race down the river! The goal this year? 10,000 ducks to benefit local charities. reedy riverduckderby.com
Play! 27-28. The Greater Greenville Scottish Games & Highland Festival brings the colors, tastes, sights and sounds of clan life in the wild Highlands of Scotland. greenvillegames.org
For Every Woman 12. Don’t miss Ungirdled Truths, a play about 12 women and their medical experiences, with a discussion on female health issues to follow. ghs.org/360healthed
Full of Hot Air 27-30. The hot air balloons may be the stars at Freedom Weekend Aloft in Simpsonville, but there is plenty going on for the whole family! freedom weekendaloft.org
Fun in the Sun 13-14. The Blue Ridge Fest on Main Street Pickens features the Beach Night Show, a Classic Car CruiseIn, and a Charity Motorcycle Ride. blueridge.coop/ blueridgefest
Peddle Down 28-30. Catch the excitement of the nation’s best cyclists at the Greenville Hospital System USA Cycling Championships! usacyclingchampion ships.com
Sweet Vidalia Onion Month • Creative Beginnings Month • National Smile Month • Get Caught Reading Month • Gifts From the Garden Month
Hamburger Month • Revise Your Work Schedule Month • Meditation Month • Photo Month • Salad Month • National Salsa Month • Bike Month skirt.com
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“skirt! will be there, too, so be sure to stop by and say hello!
May 13 Calling All skirt! Gals! Grab all your girlfriends and get ready to party at the Peace Center to such hits as It’s Raining Men, I Will Survive, Lady Marmalade, and Girls Just Want to Have Fun! Girls Night Out: The Musical follows five friends as they reminisce about their lives during a wild girls night out at a karaoke bar. Tickets are $35, $40, and $45, and include admission to Cocktails & Couture, an exclusive pre-show event in the Peace Center’s Huguenot Loft featuring Greenville’s finest shopping and entertainment destinations! skirt! will be there, too, so be sure to stop by and say hello! Starts at 6:30pm, followed by Girls Night:The Musical at 8pm! peacecenter.org
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Traci Daberko is an illustrator and graphic designer in Seattle, WA. See her work at daberkodesign.com.
Soybu Quick Change Reversible Skirt Sports Authority 2465 Laurens Rd, Greenville 864. 297.8770
skirt.com
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So many people assume that I saved Bede from a life of hell. But it’s completely the other way around.
I
Anna Seip
spent three years in an abusive relationship. The whole time, I knew better. I was a journalist who’d written stories about domestic violence, talking to women in shelters who were trying to piece their worlds together again. One day during an argument, David charged and screamed in my face, so closely that he bit my cheek. After I made sure I wasn’t bleeding, I hid the bite with CoverGirl and applied for a job at a small newspaper 1,000 miles away. The employer flew me down for an interview. I took the job, filed a restraining order after David tried a last-ditch choke hold (physically and emotionally) and hit the road. Everything I owned was in my car. Safely settled into my new job, new apartment and new life, I got lonely. Just like the women I had interviewed, the ones who had tried to leave their abusers so many times. Until friends quit listening. And family quit helping. I called him. It was easy to keep things fun and romantic long-distance. There were holiday weekends together, tearful goodbyes in the airport and promises of a future. We decided to try again. We agreed to move to Nashville—a place where neither of us knew anyone— so the terms of our relationship would be equal. Since we’d sold everything except our bed to get there, we had no furniture except for a couple of camping chairs. Within days, I fell right back into the same sick patterns. Isolated from friends and family, I felt lost and stupid when I couldn’t find a job. David returned to his jealousy and insults. You disgust me. Your family doesn’t care about you. Who could possibly want you? I saw an ad in the local paper. A woman needed someone to take care of her 30 Persian show cats. It was a job with animals—not people. No way David could get jealous of that. So much for my fast-track journalism career. My new boss gave me directions to her house. “Turn left and my house is across from Alan Jackson’s,” she said. “You mean Alan Jackson, the country singer?” I asked. “Yeah. Watch out for those ‘Homes of the Stars’ tour buses.” With my college degree and my student loans pushed to the back of my mind, I started work—four hours a day, $8 an hour. The cathouse was mostly empty, with only a slate floor and a sink in the corner. Like tiny apartment buildings, rows of cats in cages lined the walls. Prize ribbons of all colors decorated each door. The rest of the cats ran loose around the room. I emptied litter boxes, filled food bowls, scraped up hair balls and mopped with an eco-friendly cleaner that was useless. While I worked, I cried. After each shift, I’d drive home and then cry some more in the shower. A couple weeks later, while cleaning the cage of the most-decorated male, I felt a nudge. The cat rubbed against my face, purring. I cried harder, but they were happier tears.
My boss, who usually stayed in the main house and left my pay next to the sink each week, sometimes hovered in the cathouse while I worked. “So, why are some of the cats in cages and the rest of them loose?” I asked. “The males are in cages,” she explained. “The females aren’t. Most of them are bred out, so they’re just here taking up space. There’s about 10 here that I need to just let loose and feed to the coyotes.” I was pretty sure she was joking. Then I wondered which life was worse: the one cooped up in a pretend house or the one outside with the predators. “You want one?” she asked. She picked up a puny, matted female and handed her to me. I couldn’t take care of a cat. I couldn’t even take care of myself. My apartment didn’t have furniture. Besides, the lease was clear about no pets. And David would kill me. For real this time. I finished mopping, grabbed a spare litter box and took the cat home. Her name was Bede—pronounced “bitty.” I brushed her and tried to get rid of the cathouse smell, the same odor that clung to my clothes each day after work. David didn’t freak out about her. He just ignored her. When I took Bede in to get spayed, the veterinarian’s office gave me a discounted rate because my income was so low. I dropped her off for surgery and drove home. The vet called my apartment a few minutes later and said, “Where on earth did you get this cat? She’s full of tapeworms. Hundreds of them. And she has two C-section scars.” I explained the situation. As I gave him the breeder’s name, I wondered if there would be an animal control investigation. Either way, this was the end of my cat job. “That figures,” he said. “Some Persian kittens go for $5000. The breeder’s gonna make sure those kittens come out somehow, even at the expense of the mama cat. Disgusting, huh?” You disgust me. Things got worse at home. After a particularly bad night, I called a women’s shelter while David was sleeping. The woman on the phone said they had one bed available at 6am the next day. Before she hung up, she mentioned that the shelter, by the way, did not accept pets. I called my aunt in Atlanta. I told her I was leaving him, for real this time. Her house was only hours away. In the morning, I started packing. “What about your cat?” David taunted as he circled me. “What are you going to do about your cat?” I stated the obvious: “She’s coming with me.” Bede and I escaped from our cages together, parasite-free. So many people assume that I saved Bede from a life of hell. But it’s completely the other way around. Even though I didn’t realize it at the time, those cats saved me. Without a single word, they loved me simply because I showed up and took care of them. Ten years later, Bede is still going strong. And so am I—with a husband, two kids and a job as an editor.
Anna Seip is an editor at a small college in Pennsylvania. Her cat has 800+ Facebook friends. 10
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The
Escape Issue
Tip yourself.
Put all your loose change and spare bills in a jar, and start saving for your impossible-dream vacation.
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The
Escape Issue
Test yourself. Be merry
How little can you pack? because regrets are passé, you’re alive today Challenge yourself to go away with one carry-on. and surely hope is on the way. Spread out everything and pare down until you have a suitcase for a free spirit.
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Like gossip, dissatisfaction grows exponentially until every mundane aspect of your day becomes further evidence in your mind of the need to change.
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Stephanie Fretwell-Hill
ere is what is expected: You grow up, get an education, choose a career, land a job, find a husband, get a house, fill it with stuff, have a baby (maybe two), get a promotion, get a bigger house, fill it with more stuff, scrimp and save, invest wisely, retire. Then you can do what you want. A year ago, I was somewhere between “fill it with stuff” and “have a baby,” when my husband and I decided to push the “eject” button on our lives. It all started with the death clock. 999 days My husband came home from work one day and described the most notable event since we had parted that morning: The City of London had erected a digital clock on the BT tower to count down the days to the 2012 Olympics. The clock read 999 days, and filled the view through the window from my husband’s desk. Throughout the course of his day, he’d look out the window to see that yes, it still read 999 days. 998 days Meanwhile, on the other side of London, I was feeling stagnant. I had loved my job once upon a time. But six years on, I felt like I was still doing the same thing. I started meeting with various directors within my company for advice on how and where I could move to a new challenge. While everyone was encouraging, there just weren’t any available roles that were right for me. 990 days We had been talking for years about What Is Really Important In Life. Travel, food, love, family, learning—all of these pleasures appeared high on the list, but nowhere did either of us mention spending 12 hours a day getting to, being at, and getting home from work. We started to wonder: Is this really it? Is this what we can expect out of the rest of our lives? 985 days “I feel like it’s counting down the days until I die,” my husband announced dramatically one evening. “What’s counting down the what?” I asked. “The death clock,” he said. “The clock outside my window at work. It’s ticking off the days of my life.” 970 days Once you let a thought like that in, it snowballs. Like gossip, dissatisfaction grows exponentially until every mundane aspect of your day becomes further evidence in your mind of the need to change. My boss doesn’t really hear what I’m saying? I should really quit. Not getting paid what I think I’m worth? This place is stifling me. None of my co-workers refill the empty coffee canister? I gotta get out of here! 956 days Of course, this was all in the middle of the biggest recession in living memory. Quitting a good job with no clear idea of where you’re headed next would be ri-
diculous. Husband and wife both quitting their good jobs at the same time would be financial suicide. Wouldn’t it? 932 days We decided to quit anyway. We hatched a plan to leave our jobs, rent out our house, move to the U.S. and travel around the country for as long as we could make our money last. Then we would decide what was next. 931 days The first step was to stop all spending. This is not easy in London, where even a short ride on the underground will set you back $5. No more eating out: Instead we cooked dinners for our friends at home. We rode our bikes to work rather than taking the bus and dropped our gym memberships since we were getting our exercise elsewhere. I stopped buying clothes. My husband sold his motorcycle and I sold my piano. Our bank balance grew. 700 days We held our resolve and marched into our respective offices one day to tell them we were leaving. For me, it was like an out-of-body experience. I could see myself from above, saying, “My last day will be...” What is that girl doing!? I thought...she’s crazy... 699 days There was no turning back. We both fought and struggled in our minds, but in our actions we did what we had to do: packed up our things, sold what we didn’t need, found a tenant to move into our house, said goodbye to our friends and got on the plane. I won’t pretend it wasn’t painful: it hurt to see another family move into our first house together, and it broke my heart to leave my close friends behind. 634 days We took our money and bought a Chevy Suburban. My husband converted the back into a bed long enough to accommodate his six-foot-one frame, with storage drawers underneath. We collected our most essential things: a camp stove, a water tank, a box of canned food, exactly enough clothing to layer up to keep from freezing in the winter, a laptop. Then we started driving. We drove from Maine in a giant counter-clockwise loop: west through New England, the Midwest, the Pacific Northwest, then south along the West coast, and east across the Southwest, Texas, and the Southeast. We spent six months driving, stopping with old friends to reconnect for a week here, two weeks there. We drove down mud roads to camp in the middle of nowhere or slept in WalMart parking lots and behind casinos. We woke up to some of the most breathtaking landscapes America has to offer. Every day we would ask each other, What do you feel like doing today? Visiting the Spam museum? Hiking through Yellowstone? And we’d go do that. Then we’d find a place to camp, cook a modest dinner, and sit reading or playing the guitar by the fire. Sometimes we would talk, and sometimes we’d just listen to the sounds of the night. Autumn leaves rustling, desert winds blowing, a coyote howling—but no clock ticking anywhere. Our trip hasn’t ended; I’m beginning to realize it will never end. We both work in some form or another, and we may move out of our car and into a house again soon, but we already have what is really important. It was in us all along.
Stephanie Fretwell-Hill is a freelance writer and publisher who loves to travel. She has been living in London for the past six years but is currently taking time off from her city career to drive around America...slowly. Read more of her work on her food and travel blog: buttermilkpartycake.com. skirt.com
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The ocean has always been my source of solace.
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Stacy Appel
uatulco, Mexico, feels like paradise. Or at least it did for the first few days when I arrived here. The turquoise sea, the broad expanse of white sand beach, geckos sunning themselves on the cement path outside my room. A smiling mariachi band that serenades me in the bar before dinner. No weightier decision required here than what flavor daiquiri to sip while watching the sunset, which earrings might look nicest in the disco. There’s a wrinkle, however, one that is turning out to be more significant as the week elapses—what to do about the large extended family, not mine, who won’t leave me alone. They warmed to me in the airport lounge in San Francisco, then encircled me here in the club dining room over breakfast when they spied me again, shrieking their delight. They mean to teach me to sail and windsurf, they follow me into the water to recount what they’ve been up to in the hour or so since I saw them last, they stop me in the gift shop to tell me jokes. Grandpa or the cousins or Mary and Jim come to my room to fetch me for dinner, or yell up to me when I’m reading a novel on the small balcony outside my room. I have yet to find a swath of sand upon which to lie peacefully unencumbered and unnoticed by at least one of them, which leaves me with the odd dilemma of how to get away on my getaway. I consider heading down to the water in disguise. The ocean has always been my source of solace. The first time I tottered unsteadily from my mother’s towel onto the cool slimy sand at shore’s edge, felt the sudden icy fingers of a wave sliding over my bare toes, unearthing me, I was hooked. If I could have bottled and taken home the fishy, salty tang of sea breeze mixed with coconut oil and brine, boardwalk cotton candy and taffy, I would have done so; I settled for a bucketful of conch shells and sand dollars almost as happily. Early beach memories are a mosaic of sunbaked mornings from Bethany, Block Island, Ocean City, and Rehoboth, though as years pass it’s impossible to distinguish which moment rests upon precisely which stretch of Atlantic shoreline. My mother sleeps under the partial shade of a tilted umbrella, the glamour of her cherry lipstick and white pointy sunglasses only slightly offset by the fact that she is snoring lightly, glasses slipping crookedly down her nose. I am fascinated by the way her shoulders have begun to turn salmon pink where the straps of her tank suit have trailed down to the sides. After supper I will watch my father rub butter into her hot skin while she swears aloud. Another morning, my brother Peter stomps with a warrior’s determination down to the water, looking (so I think) like an angry frog in oversized fins and goggles and red trunks, while
Dad races behind him to keep up. I am exhilarated when a seagull, as if obeying my secret command, makes off with the last soggy tomato-and-mayo sandwich, forcing my parents to buy me a hot dog from the boardwalk vendor instead. Nights at the shore, by the time I am a teenager, fill me with hopeful yearning and make me a little crazy. I spend occasional weekends with my closest friend and her family at their little white beachfront house in Delaware, where the tug of the moon, so gloriously full it falls like a streetlamp on the upstairs deck, turns me into a coyote girl. I scheme and plot to get us outside and onto the boardwalk, away from her family. I long to prowl. I want to go where we might be noticed in our dirndl shirts and cut-offs, strike up conversations with people we don’t know. So I manufacture all kinds of nonsensical, urgent needs: drugstore items, exercise to help us sleep, a school book I must have left at the coffee shop earlier in the day, pizza. Anything to get us out of the musty-smelling living room where her parents sit contentedly with highballs, oblivious to the magic of beach life after dark. When I turned 15, I landed a summer-long job as a mother’s helper in Atlantic City, New Jersey, along with another girl named Ivy, with whom I tried my best to create order amidst two sets of adults and six children in a rental house a few blocks from the water. The long days were exhausting, even with Ivy sharing meal prep and endless hunts for lost toys or kids or bathing suit bottoms after breakfast. Some mornings I was already tired by the time our small army had made the trek down to stake out our usual spot on the crowded beach. I fiercely envied the adults, who left us almost entirely on our own with the children while they swam and drank and flirted, although theoretically that was exactly why we were hired. We gritted our teeth and attempted to manage the noisy pre-dinner chaos, unpacking all the mildewed gear again and trundling one sandy, sticky child after another in and out of the outdoor shower. We knew very well that the hot water would be long gone by the time we got our own chance to bathe. My comfort would come later, when Ivy and the rest of the household were fast asleep in bunk beds and cots, and I could sneak out the screen door to spend a precious hour or so patrolling the beach on my own. I walked barefoot for a long ways on the sand, soothed and steadied by the lapping of the waves, the night wind moving around me like the brush of someone’s arms. Here in Huatulco so many years later, I decide that I am tired of running away to be alone. Sitting on my deck before bed, I listen to the tide and say a prayer to Poseidon, moody god who rules the ocean, to help me stand my ground. The next morning, to my amazement, the invasive family has gone. They’ve vanished on a weeklong excursion to Cozumel, as I learn from a note slipped under my door before breakfast, and they’ll look me up in California when we’re all back. I stroll out of my room and down the path to the cove, where a few people have spread towels next to the rocks. I watch the sea unfurl, and then I claim this beach, this country, this day, and this crowded paradise as my very own.
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. She is a contributor to the book You Know You’re a Writer When… Contact Stacy at WordWork101@aol.com 14
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The
Escape Issue
Trick yourself.
Can’t afford a trip this year? Listen to an audio book about a destination and pretend your daily walks are taking you closer every day.
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Wander Women
Anna Matusz | From Poland with Love As a child of communist Poland, Anna was restricted by borders to Soviet countries only, but that didn’t stop her parents from taking her to faraway places like Bulgaria, Romania, and Czechoslovakia. They also encouraged her to learn English, plus another language that interested her. “I chose Italian and after the borders were opened in 1989, my first trip as a teenager was to Italy. I always return to Italy, in my heart it is my second home.” Free to roam, Anna journeyed to Germany, Austria, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Hungary, Spain, France, and Monaco. Her first intercontinental trip, though, was to NYC where she fell in love with the culture and diversity of America. When her parents settled in Greenville, Anna followed and starting her own company ANAMAT, LLC. “I was amazed at how similar Greenville is to my city in Poland. Cozy, green, yet so international and well developed.” Photo by Sheril Bennett Turner
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Wander Women
Christine Selvaggio | Frequent Flyer Christine’s been smitten with the travel bug since the age 16, when she convinced her parents to let her holiday in Spain. Since that time, she’s studied in Perth, Western Australia, where she took excursions to New Zealand and Bali, Indonesia and met people from all over the world and, as part of a group of 160 student teachers, taught high school students about globalization in Cluj-Napoca, Romania. Through the years, Christine has returned to Spain plus added Greece, Italy, and many parts of the good ole’ USA to her travel log. “Hopefully the next stop on my pursuit of worldly conquest will be South America, especially with the World Cup right around the corner in Brazil!” Currently, this globetrotter is the Marketing Director for Trendset Information Systems, traveling for business with the goal of expanding the family-founded business to both Latin America and Europe. Photo by John Fowler taken at Runway Café
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Wander Women
Laura Rush | Whirlwind Romance Laura, led by her best friend, travel companion and fiancé Tyler, has been on the go since the new year began, starting with an impromptu trip to NYC for NYE, followed by a private plane no-baggage-check-bring-your-own-cooler jaunt to Dallas for the Super Bowl. Recently the couple returned from a west coast tour of Napa and San Francisco, where they picked up a few cases of their favorite wines—along with a pair of kick-ass Louboutins for her and a few pairs of sneakers from Nike Town for him. Home in Greenville for the moment, this adventure-loving pair will have little time to rest before they’re off to explore again. “Our next venture will take us to New Orleans at the end of April for Jazz Fest,” says Laura, “and later in the year after the wedding, we will be jaunting to Europe for our honeymoon.” Photo by John Fowler
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He’s So Original
Victor Volskay Casts His Vote with the Women As the son of a defense contractor and a veteran of the Navy himself, Victor traveled extensively before settling down in Greenville 21 years ago. An environmental consultant for SynTerra Corporation, this family man became a member of the League of Women Voters of Greenville County in 2003, where he has supported voter registration drives and candidate debates, as well as helped organize forums to educate the public. “The reference to gender in the League of Women Voters reminds us that the right to vote was denied to a majority of Americans less than two generations ago. Women overcame seemingly insurmountable obstacles and sacrificed much during the women’s suffrage movement. Needless to say, the League of Women Voters has a strong policy against gender discrimination and welcomes anyone who wants to make a difference in our community.” What do you love about skirt! magazine? “skirt! has a great sense of humor!” How do you feel wearing a skirt? “It must be an omen. I’ll attend the Greenville Scottish games this year. In jeans, though” Photo by John Fowler
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I miss the days of traveling on nothing but optimism and a whim.
TRIP
Lorrie Goldin
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Road Trip
In a moment of insanity, we promised our daughter Emma travel money for that last heedless summer between high school and college. She had long yearned to visit Moscow’s onion domes, the Great Wall of China, the ruins of Pompeii—any exotic land that would deliver her from the dull safety of her suburban upbringing. Fortunately, Emma’s friends, not sharing her passion for foreign misadventures, talked her into a cross-country road trip instead. Shortly after tossing their mortarboards in the air and shutting the door on childhood, they plan to cross the United States in the faithful minivan that has toted them from soccer practice to guitar lessons to unauthorized parties. God only knows where it will take them now. “But she barely knows how to unscrew the gas cap!” I lament to my husband. “She can’t read a map to save her life!” My husband glances up from his book chronicling the glory days of South Pole expeditions. I know that look—a silent indictment of me for coddling our daughter into helpless dependency since infancy. “At least everyone will speak English,” he mutters before returning to the armchair adventures he must content himself with now that he’s a responsible family man. “She’ll be fine.” I have to believe this, or at least pretend. It’s not as if I lack practice in swallowing my fears and surrendering gracefully to my daughter’s naive forays into the dangerous world. So I flash my membership card at the AAA counter and come away with camping guides and maps of every region of this too-vast country. At least it’s not Russia, I remind myself. At least she’ll hear “Your money or your life” in her native tongue before being knocked unconscious into the gutter. When she sees the maps, Emma temporarily abandons the sullen monotone she has perfected for in-home use. A radiant, full-face smile I dimly remember from grade school appears, and I congratulate myself for cracking the code that makes teenagers indecipherable to their mothers. How can I puncture her bubble when she returns, elated with dreams of the open road? “We’re going to drive up to Vancouver, then go to Chicago and New York and then pick up Zoe in Rhode Island,” Emma gushes. “Then we’ll go to Nashville, Memphis, Birmingham and New Orleans and come back through Texas. We want to avoid Nebraska. Do you think $500 will be enough?” Not unless you’re planning on prostituting yourself at truck stops for gas money, I think to myself. Wisely deciding to remain silent on creative fundraising schemes, but still miffed about dinner, I content myself with criticizing their proposed route. “Why go all the way up to Canada and then so far south? Do you have any idea how hot Texas will be?” Certainly they’d be better off traveling from one national park to the next, recreating the perfect family camping trip my husband and I regret never taking when the kids were little. Perhaps they could finally get their Junior Ranger badges. The truth is I envy my daughter’s confident oblivion. I miss the days of traveling on nothing but optimism and a whim. When I was Emma’s age, my friends and I spent hours planning a European bike trip. With the map spread out across the kitchen table, my friend Harry traced downward through Spain from north to south, exclaiming, “Look, it’s all downhill! We can coast!” We never did bike through Europe. But even if we had, the actual trip could not have surpassed the magic of planning it, unimpeded by reality, confident we could go wherever we wanted. Back then, all roads led to endless possibilities arrived at by effortless coasting. I wonder if Emma and her friends will actually pack up the car and find their way cross country and back, successfully avoiding Nebraska. I hope they make it, if only to prove that I have not smothered her with my neurotic hovering. But even if this journey unfolds only on the tabletops at Coffee Roasters, I know Emma has already left. Watching her go, I feel a surge of empathy for my mother, who stoically endured what all parents must face sooner or later. She may have been spared the particular nightmare of bicycle wrecks on foreign mountainsides, but a few years later she still had to drive me to the Greyhound bus station and wave goodbye when I moved 3,000 miles away, armed with little money and fewer prospects. She must have been as heartsick as I am now, but back then I felt only the thrill of the limitless horizon before me. Now the open road scares me, not just for my daughter’s travels, but for my own. I wish I could muster up that confident oblivion again as I reluctantly embark on the final leg of this 18-year road trip. Where is the AAA counter dispensing maps and advice for navigating the unfamiliar territory of the empty nest? Lorrie Goldin (lorriegoldin.com) is a psychotherapist and writer in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work has appeared on public radio and in numerous publications.
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Let’s Go Eco Picnic Basket • Uncommon Goods uncommongoods.com
WeLove!
SPF 30 Sunscreen Swipes
Coobie Bras cocobella boutique 21-C Augusta St., Greenville 864.283.0989
Sheril Editor
Dr. T’s Supergoop! supergoop.com
Margaret Prepara Volcano! Fillable Ice-Pops Foxfire 2222 August St., Greenville 864.242.0742
Kathryn Sales Executive
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skirt! National Editor
Art by Karen Greenberg
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f-word [ Feminism Free-For-All ]
Rape
WOMEN Is the recession paradoxically spurring women to become entrepreneurs? There are cur-
rently 7.8 million women-owned firms in the U.S. That adds up to more than a quarter of
DNA tees by Threadless
companies nationwide.
Girl Develop IT was started by a group of women in software and website development to create solutions to the gender gap in the industry (the community of developers is 91% male at this time). They offer classes to teach women coding, leveraging existing technology, and having something to show for it (aka building sweet websites). For info on starting a site near you: board@girldevelopit.com.
“What I love about her [Geraldine Ferraro’s] life story is that it says we don’t have to follow some rigid script. That there’s time to take the bar exam, read bedtime stories, push legislation, and paint your toenails red.” Emily Yoffe on doublex.com
between
100,000 and
300,000
children are enslaved and sold for sex in our country alone.
$216 fine and attend a citizenship course. France has
dation (DNA), founded by
five million Muslim women, with only about 2000 of
Kutcher, has launched “Real Men Don’t Buy Girls,” an interactive video campaign aimed at educating the public about child sex slavery in the United States. demiandashton.org Mayw2011greenville
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wearing a niqab or burqa in public will have to pay a
The Demi and Ashton Foun-
Demi Moore and Ashton
28
has instituted a national ban on face veils. Anyone
them affected by the ban. How do you feel about this controversial issue?
May survival guide Banana Trees Bike Basket Honoring Mom The Tree of Life, Terrence Malick Margaritas With Salt Outdoor Café Tables May Day Bouquets A Pound Hound “Longing to Belong,” Eddie Vedder
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SKIRT! SAY S: You’re never too old to ride on the handlebars.
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eBritto Luggage Case • Business Case Converts to Overnighter • Heys USA heysusa.com
Let’s Go
Posh Pouchees
Townie Bike Tandem Touring & Recumbent Bikes 101 S. Hudson St., Greenville 864.283.6401
The Grapevine 205 Trade St., Greer 864.879.4222
Mini Heated Eyelash Curler Sephora in JCPenney Haywood Mall, Greenville 864.297.3550
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Meet Where I Get My Coffee: Leopard Forest
CindyYoussef, Manager of Diversity Leadership Programs at The Riley Institute at Furman University, whose future goals include developing a leadership institute for teens and young adults and traveling to every continent.
Red, White or Beer? Moscato
My Pets: Two Blue Parakeets, Jack and Jill
My Guilty Pleasure: Animated Movie Night Marathons
My Secret Ambition: To Be US Ambassador to Australia
Dream Vacation: Traveling Around Central and South America, Meeting the Locals Favorite Restaurant: The Pita House Shoes I Covet: Red Steve Madden Platform Heels Signature Scent: Dior J’adore One Item Always In My Purse: My Camera My Lucky Charm: The Cross I Received from the
Photo by John Fowler taken on Furman Campus
Coptic Orthodox Pope My Watch: Tommy Hilfiger Right Now I’m Reading: e-journals and e-newspapers My Muse: My Journal From My Travels Abroad
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May
Record If you’re more comfortable with a computer than pen and paper, 750 Words is a site where you can write and store your Morning Pages a la The Artist’s Way. Your work is completely private and is never posted online. 750words.com
Delight If you love TMZ and the Times Literary Supplement, poetry and pole-dancing class, we think you’re the audience for HiLo Brow, which is a mash-up of things as poles apart as Stephane Mallarmé and Nick Lowe, Carol Channing and Gertrude Stein. hilobrow.com
Books we are enjoying
OM ZenHabits is about finding simplicity in the daily chaos of our lives. Leo Babauta wants to help us clear the clutter in order to focus on what’s important, find happiness or be creative.
DV Diana Vreeland Nikki Hardin Publisher
And we always find something that seems written just for us, like “How to Start.” zenhabits.net
Laugh Our favorite section on The Awl is “The Hairpin,” and the post called “Letters to the Editors of Women’s Magazines” had us in stitches. Because don’t you always wonder who writes those letters about being so happy that Brad found Angelina? As in “please, girl, get a life.” theawl.com
Wheels of Change: How Women Rode the Bicycle to Freedom (With a Few Flat Tires Along the Way) Sue Macy Sheril Bennett Turner Editor
Make Created by TED Prize winner, JR, a French street artist, INSIDE OUT is a large-scale participatory art project that transforms
Books published by skirt!
messages of personal identity into pieces of artistic work. Upload a portrait. Receive a poster. Paste it for the world to see. insideoutproject.net
Bloglines DoubleX.com “I love my iPad, and it itself is pretty awe-inspiring—but it was, in fact, developed to be so simple that a child could do it. And when I see a child as young as 2 or 3 hunched over that, or some other piece of digital equipment, my reaction is never awe. It’s mostly disbelief.” KJ Dell’Antonia
What I Wish for You Patti Digh
DesignThought Leader.com
TheStyleRookie. tumblr.com
“The map of the possible
“I love you with all my butt. I would say heart, but my butt is bigger.”
world being redrawn right now—parts of it in tragic and unsettling ways—might soon mean new opportunities for the traveler who dares to try it. Travel, especially of the old laborious kind, has never seemed to me of greater importance, more essential, more enlightening.” Paul Theroux
After Image Carla Malden
Music we love Greatest Recordings Francoise Hardy skirt.com
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planetnikki [ a visual journal ]
There are days when I’m eager to go out to dinner, meet someone for drinks, dress up for a party.
can’t wait
And then there are days when I
to pull into my driveway, have the motion light on the corner of the house
welcome me,wash
work and worry off my face and hands and sink into the bliss of home. When changing into pajamas feels sybaritic and the idea of a heavy down comforter makes me think of sleep
When dinner for one is not
lonely
but
lovely.
as a lover.
When the prayer flags are doing their job and spreading blessings with every breeze. When I’m not longing to be in
London, Paris or Mendocino—anywhere but here.
When my house lives up to the name my daughters gave it—Happy Shack. When I feel lucky to have a fractious fractured ankle instead of kankles. When my Kindle is filled with books to be read late into the night.
Lucky, lucky
me.
Happy, happy
haleyforetsy.etsy.com
It’s the year of the Rabbit, and I fell in love with this bunny lamp when I was in London, even though rewiring it for the U.S. was stupidly impractical.
Since my fractured ankle is taking so long to heal, I think I need a doctor’s Rx for a pair of Chloe strapped flats to give me some stylish support for travel. If only they were covered by health insurance.
shack.
Graphic USA is like having a hip creative as your guide in different cities across the country. In Charleston, my town, that means designer Jay Fletcher.
“America in My Book” is an illustration of the United States, based on silly stereotypes through the eyes of California artist Haley Nahman.
A long weekend in NYC included hearing skirt! books author Spr Kris Carr speak at ing ! Donna Karan’s Urban Zen, dinner at Lupa (a Mario Batali restaurant) in Greenwich Village, Central Park on the verge of spring, the Guggenheim, and an amazing reunion with old friends from my wanton youth.
Nikki Hardin is the founder and publisher of skirt! magazine. She blogs at fridaville.com. 34
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