Category Archives: Daily News

It’s all about forks. In a split second, life can change. It’s a matter of shifting your shoulders a few degrees and choosing to walk the alternate root when you come to a decision– which isn’t so hard considering both directions happen to begin at the very origin where you are currently standing. All it takes is one step aimed towards a slightly different angle.

A single step is no big deal, except that it leads to a second step, then the next and the next, and before you know it you’ve put a great deal of distance between where you started and where you’re going to end up. Fact is, no mater how slight the degree of change is, an angle does not provide a parallel course. Walking a new path drives the gap between two courses wider as time goes on.  So, when it comes to forks, it is wise to take care in making your choice.

It is with this in mind that Mark and I decided to reconsider which road we will take next.

Yesterday was one of those “harsh” days.
It began when I went to feed the horses. Got stung twice by a wasp. It hurt. Needless to say, these were only the beginning stings I had to look forward to this day.

I’d decided it was time to let my poultry run free again so the day before, I opened the pen. The marauding dogs haven’t been around and I need those guineas to be out and about eating fly larva to control the fly population currently festering and getting ready to break out. It’s nice to have my chickens roaming again, roosting on the hitching post and scooting and scratching about the pasture and woods. But sure enough, my male peacock was nowhere to be found. I guess he flew the coup – literally. The female was complacent and obviously she’s gripped the concept of “home”. Unfortunately, I’ll no longer have that wonderful spectacle of Prism’s fanned tail to brighten my days. Damn peacock. He may be out in the woods somewhere- Mark swears he’s heard him, but I’m not counting on the bird coming home. My peacock egg was due to hatch this week but it’s just sitting in the incubator like a pet rock. Apparently the ol’ boy didn’t do his job in the procreation department despite all his strutting and acting like a big shot. Needless to say, I’m Peacock pissy this week.

When I finished tending the animals, I went to retrieve the mail. Mistake. I got a letter from one of the agents that requested my book – the agent I was coveting most. She declined representing me, saying “This is not a commentary on your writing, but on the market. I only take on what I can sell and yours is not a story I feel confident I can move.”
I took the news well. I told Mark I was quitting writing forever because I suck so bad.
He sighed and said, “Sure you are.”
“I mean it.”
“OK.”

That conversation was interrupted by a call from our builder, Ronnie. Someone had cut the lines set for our coffee shop footers the day before. That meant several hours of work had to be redone. We guessed it was the barbeque man. Ah well. We called the police and they promised to watch the site carefully.  The strings were reset, but cut again while the workers were out. So that is how it’s going to be . . .

Another call. Our house was being appraised for a refinance. The number came in just shy of what we needed to qualify for the spectacular rate Mark locked in. Damn. We offered to put in the cash to make up the difference, for it was really not that much, but don’t ya know they wouldn’t give us an extension to work this out. They preferred to decline the refinance (not surprising because the rates have gone way up since we locked in the agreement.) It wasn’t that important, because we are putting the house up for sale this week anyway – we just thought the refinance was a wise thing to do in case it took awhile to unload.  Meanwhile, the appraiser apologized and told us the house was worth much more than the figure he could assign, but he was having trouble establishing this because there are no comparables within the last twelve months in this area. There just aren’t many log houses as unique or grand as this one here in Nowhere, GA.  Now, if he was allowed to use comparables from 13 months ago, he could appraise the house for 30 % more, because several artistic log homes on Blue Ridge Lake sold last year for a fair price. The fact that we live in such a small place and the market has been so slow is complicating things. Buzz. Sting. 

We got a call from the bank. Despite a verbal OK, theye reconsidered our coffee shop project and now did not want to back it. They’re worried bout the future of the specialty coffee industry because they have an article about how Starbucks is closing locations and restructuring their stores – all information we already knew – the article is in our files. Hell, we’ve done over 6 months of intensive research on the field, flown to Portland for professional training, hired a consultant, talked to roasters and vendors and well, you get it. Not like we didn’t study marketing trends first. They said they would back the project if we would just move the shop to Blue Ridge, where the train begins rather than the destination location. There is a great deal of thriving commerce in the bigger town which they view as “safer”. They just don’t trust our little town of McCaysville will evolve to support our ambitious plans. The fact that we already own the lot in the smaller town doesn’t seem to be a consideration. 

For all that this is aggravating, their reservations are fair. We’ve been aware of the risk from the beginning – being the big fish in a really small pond makes it hard to find enough food to keep you swimming strong. We have another bank willing to back us so we can still proceed. The problem now was, our confidence had been shaken. We believe in listening to others with experience and paying heed to outside opinions. This doesn’t mean we always follow the advice we are given, but we sure contemplate it and pit it against our own judgement in a fair debate. 

Mark said, “We better revaluate our concept and look at the numbers again.” 

The fact is, people open businesses and lose their life savings all the time. Usually this kind of thing occurs because they are overconfident, underfinanced, or didn’t do enough careful planning to be ready for whatever trials are definitely going to come their way. (Murphy’s law).  So, we sat down and crunched numbers (again) and talked about risk (again) and came to the conclusion that we’ve learned enough that we could definitely make this business work. But this brought the conversation back around to what it will take from us to get the required results. The fact is, if we wanted our lives to be consumed by work and stress, we would have kept the thriving and successful business we had. We loved our work. We just couldn’t withstand the personal costs indefinitely. And now we must ask ourselves if what we are planning is going to thrust us right back into the fray – like finally escaping an abusive spouse only to marry someone who hits just as hard and often (only it hurts worse because this time you’re married to someone you don’t love as much).

Which brings us back to the million dollar question – what kind of life do we want? We have to remember why we left our old world behind, define what makes us happy and be brave enough to go after it. We had a vision for the kind of life we couldlhave when we left dance. I wanted to have time in my life for reflection and discovery. I wanted to celebrate family and nature. And I wanted to write. (Even though today I quit because I suck so bad.)

Mark wanted to build houses and do woodworking and perhaps do a bit of speculating with land. He wanted to dabble in real estate and not have his life consumed with the foolish drama that was always prevalent in the dance school business. He wanted to be creative without compromise – which means he should take care before making his art his living.

What the heck does coffee have to do with any of that? Actually, it started out with us wanting an art gallery to display Mark’s work. Then we started doing research and decided we needed a more consumable product to support the business overhead, so we added a little coffee bar. I thought I’d do some cooking because I love feeding people. Then we started researching the food service department of the business and decided to get training. We hired consultants so we had a better understanding of the nuisances of this specialty business, and the next thing you know we were defining our concept and creating logos for what had somehow become a full scale restaurant, bakery, espresso bar and art gallery. The next thing you know, we are talking about franchising and opening future locations and  . . . well, you get the picture. We were fueled with confidence that our personalities, small business experience and creative gifts would help us excel in this new business.
But the fact that we can do something doesn’t mean we should.

I have a theory about what is driving us. Selling a successful business and making a good deal of money is a dream come true in theory, but in reality, it puts you at a disadvantaged in regards to being free to follow your heart. You have the funds to do all kinds of things you always dreamed of doing, but suddenly you are the steward of this huge nest egg which represents a once in a lifetime shot at opportunity and future security. You want to be worthy of this egg, to respect it and not take it for granted. Afterall, you can’t forget the sacrifice and misery it took to get it. The idea that you may piddle it away or waste this profound gift by not making practical decisions (which translates to fiscally prosperous decisions) is a constant concern. Meanwhile, people are mad at you for leaving all the success you had behind, constantly predicting how sorry you will be when the money is gone because you can’t replace the empire you so frivolously threw away. You wonder if they’re right and start having dreams of being 85 and struggling to pay bills and not being able to afford a hearing aid, looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking, “I could have retired prosperous and secure, traveled the world and had a drawer full of hearing aids if only I hadn’t been so selfish and sold my dance school 40 years ago for peace of mind.”
Regret is a sad thing, so you fear it. And that means you can’t really celebrate your good fortune because you’re consumed with what you’re not doing with it, rather than appreciating what you are doing. The idea that you dare relax for the first time in your life and make indulgent choices for the soul seems fiscally frivolous and kind of stupid. You become too guilty to enjoy a life that isn’t about building equity and accumulating wealth because our society conditions us to think a certain way.

I think we have this weird idea buried deep within that because we sold an empire, we better damn well build another one so that in twenty years we’ll be in the same financial position we would have been had we stayed in dance. But that is stupid. Because our luck could have turned at any time with dance (we were getting too old to keep up physically and frankly, we sensed a shift in the business environment and social attitudes of our area, which would no doubt have changed the dynamics of our business. We were “on top” and the law of diminishing returns pointed to a period of struggle on the horizon and frankly, we were not up to weathering another FLEX decline on our watch. So the fact is, there’s no telling how we would have ended up if we stayed in dance forever – we might even have ended up with far less than we have now had we played the hand –and we might just as well have had regret for “what might have been” had we hung in there unhappy and sacrificing saniety because it was “safe” and practical for our future.
        
We left for good reason and we need to remember it. And we must drown out the voices of doubt (others and our own) that question whether or not we can be happy with a life that ceases to be some kind of monopoly game – calculating our future payoff for the misery we are willing to endure in the present.

So, having endured enough stings for one day – we pushed our business plan aside, looked at each other quietly and waited to see which one of us had the guts to voice what they were thinking first

“What would you say if I said, let’s skip this entire coffee shop thing. It won’t make us happy. ”
“I would second that motion.”
Court adjourned.
(It doesn’t matter who said what in this kind of conversation, because clearly we were experiencing a vulcan mind meld.)

After months of planning, traveling to get training, and investing in research etc…. we have halted the project. Our investment thus far will be written off to “life education.” Needless to say, the barbeque man will think cutting a few strings worked to drive Hitler away. Ah well, he lost his bushes so we are even.

I would be lying if I didn’t say we were disappointed with our decision on some levels. We were fueled with the promise of the project and now have to reboot our brain to focus elsewhere. It was raining out and we were depressed because we are again “ungrounded” and living in limbo does not suit us at all, so we went to bed and watched six episodes of the John Adams series that we had on tape. (We know how to handle a disappointment –crawl under the covers, watch a historical movie and wallow in your feelings of uncertainty.) Then, inspired by John Adam’s passion, we got up and took a hike on the opposite side of our land to choose a new house site. We decided to stop hemming and hawing and list our house with nine or twelve acres now to rid ourselves of living with a stressful mortgage ASAP. Between this house and the two FLEX buildings we carried long after FLEX was caput, we’ve had enough of living to pay the rent.  We decided to build a new house right away – this time a nice,, practical farm house. Mark called the builder to redirect his efforts from the coffee shop to a new home, and they staked out the house and got the permit that very afternoon.

Mark and I made a pact. This time, we are going to stick with the original plan – to forge a semi-self sufficient life of semi-simplicity. Things did not plan out as expected regarding our business sale, so we have to make changes and that is a dissapointment,  but we will still have 35 acres, a barn and a workshop fully outfitted with tools. We can afford a lovely house built to suit our lifestyle nestled in the woods (no pond, but hey, I’ll have trees and damn if I won’t get a hammock this time around) and a life set up without much overhead, so we are lucky, lucky, lucky. We certainly can continue to follow our heart and fill our lives with the things that count this way.

Our builder said, “I couldn’t understand why you wanted to bury yourself in a coffee shop anyway. Let’s build some houses together – starting with yours. “
And that is what they plan to do. Mark is going to complete the orders he has now for furniture and perhaps take on a few more – but since he doesn’t have to crank out a store full of merchandise or support the family by his art, he can follow the wave of inspiration and have some fun. He’s going to start up his real estate career with Century 21 tomorrow, something he’s always wanted to do – they’ve given him an office. And he and Ronnie are going to build houses together.
 “I will support us by piecing together a career,” Mark announced. “You can stay home and write – which is what you were supposed to do when we sold FLEX. That will pan out in time, no denying. ”

I’ve always been a major contributor when it comes to supporting the family, so this is a lovely gift of confidence and freedom, but a bit surreal.
“I can’t be some slacker expecting you to take on the brunt of supporting us,” I said.
Mark lifted one eyebrow. “I’ve done my share of working for you. FLEX was your thing and I was along for the ride – slave labor. This time, I’m ready to take the wheel. Given a chance to do what I want,  I might surprise you with what I’m capable of.”
Of course, nothing he does would surprise me at all.  
 
Mark added, “And if you really feel guilty, you can come into the workshop and give me a hand once in a while.”
Hopefully, that won’t be literal. Does the man know I’ve never held a power tool in my life? Perhaps he means me to sweep.

It will be a curious experiment.

So, I am going to send my book out again, to the agent who requested it with an exclusive. . . (Even though I’ve quit writing because I suck so bad.)    And I’m going to dig in and finish my “moving to the country” memoir to see if that is the kind of story an agent can move in this market –(even though I quit and I suck so bad.) I’m going to figure out how to do a bit of teaching (writing) because I long to immerse myself in my new art and I desperately need the interaction with others. I also plan to offer my services to the neighboring dance schools for a few classes. I have a studio in this house so I can dance all I want, but I’ve discovered that for me, dance is something meant to be shared. I miss the wonderful camaraderie and synergy that happens when I’m in a room working with young people with a passion for dance. I don’t ever want teaching dance to be my living again, but I do want dance to be a part of my world. (Funny thing is, Mark said the same thing – he wants to do a bit of choreography and coaching on the side just to feed the soul – but he never wants to be a slave to the art – or dance parents- again.) Guess our feelings are an example of holding onto something with an open hand. A bird is more likely to stay if free to fly away at will.

I’m also going to cook for my family, and get back to running, and enjoy my kids and contemplate the universe while shoveling horse shit and weeding my garden. I’m going keep working with Kathy (who is doing so well) and perhaps take on another literacy student someday, make wine and mess with bees and have interests for the sake of the simple joys attached – all things I would have had to put aside if I were diving into a new business. And who are we kidding? If contributing more will be in the best interest of my family, I will. 
 
The best part of shifting direction at this fork in the road is the fact that we can beam ourselves back to the beginning at any time. Because we still own that lot and we have the variance and the permit and a rather marvelous business plan and we even have a bank in the wings who will work with us. Opening the new business can just simmer in a pot – we can proceed in a year if we feel we need to, or even in five years. Till then, we will sit tight and see what goes on with our economy, our proposed industry, and our town. We will live without the pressure of a high risk, all consuming venture for the first time in our life. Gee, that will be unchartered waters.

Anyway, that is the plan today. A dip on the rollercoaster of life that makes your stomach lurch, but doesn’t unseat you or make you want to scream. It’s a step.

    Everyday, I talk to my blueberry bush.
    I say, “Not just yet. Hold on.”
    So far, it’s been listening to me.
    The peach trees are not so easy to command. They’ve all started blooming. Their cheery, pink flowers color the landscape like a neon billboard announcing spring is here. The three peach trees in our yard are showing off a bit, even though they’re mere babes planted just last season. Down the street, the grand old trees with years of bountiful history are exploding with such pink glory it would make a truck-driver swoon. 
    Today, I’m dealing with peach-anxiety. I woke to a definite chill in the air. An hour later a bit of dandruff started falling from the sky. By lunch, the sky was filled with swirls of white so thick I couldn’t see my ducks on the pond below. It’s the day after Easter and we have snow. Yikes.
    I happen to like snow. It’s pretty and I associate many lovely things to it, such as my kids wide eyed and delighted (as only kids from Florida could be when nothing more than flurries are falling from the sky). Snow inspires me to make soup and cocoa. It makes me want to tuck my feet under a blanket on the couch with a good book. Snow is a perfect excuse to stay in, unless of course, you’re going out (to play) and it always puts my husband in a good mood.
    I even like the way snow collects on my donkey’s nose – he’s like a super snow magnet. I guess his body heat is buried so far beneath his wooly winter coat the snow sticks to him even when it doesn’t stick to the ground or anything else.  He looks like the abominable snow donkey. I dust him off and offer him an extra treat, poor dear, and together we watch the tree branches turning white while we discuss the state of the world.
     Luckily, snow is not the equivalent of a hard frost. It’s merely suggestive of freezing temperatures. Still, when you live in farm country and it snows in spring, it’s unnerving.
    Last year, a late frost killed all the peach, blueberry and apple trees in Georgia. One unexpected night of bitter cold during spring break left the freshly blooming branches loaded with curled up dead flower carcasses. The bees went hungry – nothing to pollinate. As result, all summer, no fruit.
    This week as we drove by the local orchard and saw the trees cresting with new blooms, we winced, thinking, “Certainly, it’s too soon. What if IT happens again?”
     The warmer weather has even the hidebound farmers embracing the concept of global warming. The problem is the fruit trees haven’t watched the movie An Inconvenient Truth, so they’re easily confused. The warmer earth is forcing early blooms, but the erratic pitch and sway of the atmosphere, manipulated by rising sea levels and what-have-you, can easily take all promise of normal yields away. After the killer season last year, I’m not convinced our local farmers can survive another devastating year. And I certainly don’t want to be disappointed again by facing another year without blueberry wine fermenting in a jug downstairs.
    When I went down to the barn today to feed the animals, I could swear my horses gave a collective sigh to let me know just how tired they are of waiting for spring. Me too.
     The daffodils that seemed so fresh and exciting yesterday look like little teacups filled with milk today. I witnessed a spider’s web that appeared as if it was made of yarn thanks to the thick layer of snow that somehow stuck to the feathery threads. Weird.
    My chickens are dining on squashed, hard boiled Easter eggs today, the bright colors of the shells attracting them in the way shinny lures call to fish in a pond. But my peacocks won’t step foot outside of the henhouse. I guess that would be like expecting royalty to brave the elements when theiy’re genetically groomed to sit inside on their thrown. They leave the commoner behavior of scratching the dirt while snow blankets their backs to the peasants.   (Not to be confused with pheasants.)
     My angora rabbits don’t mind the snow. It collects on their long coats until they look like hopping snow drifts. My two girls are pregnant, due in about two weeks. They’re starting to build nests, which makes me nervous because a late season frost is as much a threat to their impending litters as it is to baby peaches. Sigh.
       Soccer has been canceled due to inclement weather. I’ve spent the morning making muffins, cleaning my desk, catching up on work. I haven’t been home much lately due to the grandma ordeal, so I’m appreciative of a day at home and the opportunity to catch up on laundry.  I’m planning upcoming excursions– the Great Dessert Experience expo in Atlanta (important to the coffee shop endeavor), The Dogwood Festival to browse art vendors, an upcoming cooking class  at the Cooks Warehouse in Atlanta. I want to learn professional kitchen knife skills (next step will be learning to throw them.) And the famed Steeplechase in Atlanta, which happens to be on my birthday. (This is a huge lawn party with horse obstacle course races, pig races, a dog Frisbee championship, a ladies straw hat parade and more… Fun! I’ll pack us a glorious picnic, force everyone to wear a foolish hat to show spirit, and we can make a day of it.) I’m planning to attend another reading in Atlanta by a renowned author and I’m toying with the idea of devoting eight Mondays to a writing class at the Margret Mitchell Literary Center. The class sounds wonderful but the drive would be a killer. I keep checking the ever growing list of scheduled family endeavors on my bulletin board to consider conflicts. Do we really want to do so much? It seems we are all going in different directions, pursuing different interests and passions. Dance once held us together like bound prisoners. Now freedom to choose makes us like leaves blowing in the wind. At least I found something for everyone to do together on my birthday – the day when I have ultimate power to enforce an attendance policy. 
     I keep pausing from shuffling my to-do list around to look outside. I stare at my peach tree expecting it to start shivering right before my eyes. It’s hard to concentrate because of the snow. Spring is a nasty tease.  
        I will take a break in a bit to put in another load of laundry and have a cup of coffee.     I’m reading a book called Truck, a love story, by Michael Perry. He’s the author of another book I just finished called Population 485, a memoir. Wonderful writer. The man lives in a very remote, rural town, not unlike mine. He trained as a nurse and grew up a local country boy with few literary influences. He’s had no formal writing training, but was born with an ingrained love of reading and writing. His books have received critical acclaim and he’s had articles in prestigious magazines.  I’m impressed with his work, but even more in awe of the writer. I’m fascinated that someone with so little exposure to a sophisticated literary environment, raised in a culture that doesn’t hold much stock in highbrow read’ in and writ’ in, can still develop a strong voice and develope an appreciation for fine literature. Fascinates me. I’m also reading Three Cups of Tea,  another memoir. I’ve joined a local book club and this is the next assigned book.  I’m starved for literary conversation so I am thrilled to be reading something for eventual discussion. But I think I’ll stick with Truck today. I can’t see reading a book called Three cups of Tea while drinking coffee. Seems somehow like that
will put me out of sync with the universe.

I guess this isn’t a very interesting, entertaining or informative blog. Sorry. I just thought I should let people know I’m still here – just feeling quiet these days – and life has been taxing on both time and nerves.

When crap falls, it does so in heaps. That about sums up this month for the Hendrys.

 A few weeks ago, Mark’s mother fell while climbing into bed. Though a family member visits her everyday, Diane had just left, so no one discovered her until 22 hours later. She had bruises and rug burns all over her legs from trying to drag herself to a phone. She was dehydrated and confused.

We took her to a hospital and learned she’d had a heart attack and in fact, had experienced several over the course of the previous week. Her systems were shutting down and there was fluid in her lungs. We were told she would probably be gone within a few days, so we put a halt on life so the kids could spend time with her. We rallied together to share our last moments while we all wrestled with the painful inevitable. We were losing Mom. Crap.

Then, she started to complain and get a bit belligerent, and while this sounds horrible, we thought, Humm…… (Annoying was “normal”) She started getting demanding and whinny, and we couldn’t help but think, hey, this is more like the mother we know. Surprising the medical personal and everyone else, she made a miraculous recovery the next day.

 This is a very good thing, but it also presents a whole new set of problems because she can no longer live alone. So we have to figure out what to do with her now. Our home is not conducive to an elderly guest because of the huge log stairs, the rough gravel roads etc… Dianne’s home is very small, and she just had her parents living there while their father had cancer. Cohabitation did not prove successful in regards to family harmony. We can build an addition to Dianne’s home, or build a mother-in-law suite onto the new home we are going to build for ourselves – but those solutions take time…. What do we do in the meantime?  It’s simply a big mid life mess – the kind people our age deal with all the time, but that doesn’t make it any less stressful. Crap.

 Meanwhile, we had to zip down to Florida to do our yearly accounting – we canceled the appointment when Mark’s mother took ill, but we had to go before too much time passed. It’d be harder to go with her out of the hospital and we can’t proceed with our new business without finding out where we stand after wrapping up the past so we just packed up and drove down. We felt rather guilty and frustrated leaving, but the business of life does march onward. The fiscal news we received after that meeting was horrible on top of all else. Whatyagonnado? Crap.

 Meanwhile, Dianne’s beloved dashound got sick and became paralyzed from the waist down from, of all things, gorging on a box of chocolates. After many consultations with vets, visits to an animal acupuncturist and attempts at other remedies, she has no course but to accept this dog will never be regular again. So, she’s decided to put him down. He is a cheerful, funny fellow still dragging himself around energetically, but with zero control his bladder, you can imagine what a problem this has become. Still, he seems like the same fun loving dog that Dianne has loved relentlessly for years, so the decision is heart wrenching.

I offered to take him to the vet for the procedure because I know how difficult it will be for her. It won’t be fun, let me tell you. So, in an hour, I’ll pick up Buddy and stroke his little head as he goes to sleep for all time. It will be sad, but he deserves a familiar face with him and I love animals (and Dianne) enough to endure the emotional discomfort to help make this bad situation a little easier on everyone involved. Still, it’s more crap.

 Denver generously offered to feed my animals while we took our three day stint to Florida (Two driving days, one day to do business). Don’t ya know she sprained her ankle the moment we were pulling away, so she has had to hobble around on crutches to care for my creatures. I felt badly about that – yet grateful. And she has a new job which is now threatened and this is a detriment to her life plans. I have to see what I can do for her now too. Crap.

 Meanwhile, an associate from Singapore has been writing me to pick my brain about setting up a children’s dance program in Asia. We are advising him, which demands some  careful consideration because of cultural differences and the uniquely Asian competitive environment. We will probably be flying out there this summer to help train his staff and help set up his new business – Kiddance in Asia. We just have to find a time we will be free to come, and that is hard when you are opening a new business yourself.

I’ve been rooting through boxes and boxes of Kiddance material to gather a few things for him. I’m actually surprised as I see just how much work and research was involved with designing this program. With distance now, I see now how obsessive I was about putting together a kick butt children’s youth dance program. I have over eight boxes of syllabuses and children dance education books and the instructional material from several franchises (Gymboree, Kindermusik, etc…) all of which I studied in my commitment to design a powerful program. Mark and I ran FLEX together and built Kiddance as a team, but I was the one who was obsessive over the children’s dance division. All this material is packed in boxes in my attic like some shrine to dance. And I have boxes and boxes of papers representing classes I planned, and worksheets I designed, and ideas I tried but didn’t follow through with due to one discouraging element or another. It is amazing. I certainly took this element of FLEX seriously. I even have boxes and boxes of tangible teaching materials I somehow couldn’t bare to let go when we sold the school – like rubber skeletons used to teach kids anatomy – I never even unpacked these materials and introduced them to the teachers because the business sold so fast. I wasn’t planning to let go so soon. I don’t know why I kept it all – just that it was so hard to come by expensive materials in those years when we struggled and had so little resources to work with, and so much of this stuff was coveted by me in my frenzy to add more and better things to the program, that it all seems ultimately valuable even now. I never got around to adding this stuff to the syllabus, so the materials were of no use to the new owners – but they are certainly of no use here they are in my attic. A shame.

The funny thing is, I suddenly have shelves of books on coffee and the history of tea. I’ve been doing reasearch on high teas and tea ettiquette etc.. as I plan events and ideas to make the coffee shop so much more than a coffee shop, and I can see I am transfering my obsession to expand the envelope to the new business. Shoot me now, please. Mark certainly wants to.

 Anyway, I will be proud to see all our former work be put to good use somewhere – even if it is half a world away. The teacher (a man with a wealth of experience in professional dance and a great business mind)  keeps wanting to talk about financial matters, wanting to know how we can work out compensation for Mark and I for passing on our work and expertise. Frankly, we want to just hand him the ball and let him run with it. We don’t want anything but to know someone cares about the work, will follow our advice without a snide attitude or being angry that we won’t give more that we are comfortable giving, and we want someone to be appreciative and respectful of our help. The truth is, we have retired from dance and we don’t want to get involved again. I don’t want to reopen those boxes and start doing research and dwelling on creative dance exercises while I go about my days. I want to sleep at night and not be thinking about dance (I want to think about coffee and writing and other things). I am ready to pass that mantle on to someone else. But I sure will be proud to help out and share what we learned along the way, because in the end, I do love dance and kids and the people who commit their life to those two things. And if KIDDANCE is successful in Asia, that is a way of validating our former life’s work. That alone is a reward. We got the model down pat for a strong dance program that can make enough money to make the ongoing work and sacrifice worthwhile.That is rare in the dance biz.

So, setting up KIDDANCE in Singapore is our pet project now. For the love of it, not for compensation or because we want to build another dance empire. Mark is willing to help, but he has reservations because he has turned his sights to our new life already, and he is not one to look back. I obviously can’t resist keeping one toe in the water of dance.

 But the idea of visiting Singapore and considering the challenges of dance in a different enviornment does keep life interesting.I do love a challenge.

So I guess all of life is not filled with crap.
They are putting in a pump so I’ll have water at the barn this week. Yeah.
I have my class planned to teach at the Blue Ridge Writers Conference at the end of this month and it looks good. Yeah.
Two fine agents have my book sitting on their desk right now, so they’re the ones ignoring it instead of me. Yeah.
The daffodils are blooming in Georgia. Yeah.
My two female angora bunnies are both pregnant and building a nest. In three weeks I’ll be the proud owner of many more bunnies than I have time to groom. Yeah… kindof. And my llama is getting fat too.  Babies abound.
In Florda I realized how much I miss running, I’m starting a fitness plan today, determined to get back on track and out on the road.  Past due.
I have a cellar full of so much homemade wine that if crap continues to heap around my feet I can at least be assured a cup of relief at the end of the day. Yeah.

Now, I am off to handle the dog. You can bet I have a bottle of wine chill’in for this one…… Sigh.

       It’s been a low month for me. Something triggered the melancholy and the mood snowballed. Whatchagonnado?
 
     Making drastic changes in your life, shifting your focus, leaving your home, your friends, your career and everything familiar to create a new sort of existence, requires a leap of faith – not only faith in your own potential, but unyielding faith in your spouse and the world at large. You need to hold on to the belief that things will work out – economically, environmentally, and in all those life areas you have no control over. You have to trust your life partner can tap into a new career and/or life rhythm and be happy and productive and content because your happiness is always wrapped up in the happiness of those you live with. Considering the many factors that need to line up, a great deal can happen to squash your picture perfect vision for a new existence.
    At times there’s just so much distance between where you were and where you want to be that the journey seems insurmountable. You wonder if you’re delusional in your ambition to create a different sort of life –if it’s all a big pie in the sky dream. Perhaps you should stop all this foolishness and settle for something less far reaching.
     Frankly, change is hard. It’s hard on the ego. It strips all the comfort and ease from your life, replacing the familiar with insecurity and experimentation as you wrestle with your self definition and question your choices.  Change is an adventure, true. But as in any adventure, the early phases are exciting and fun, but the unknown (and risk) wears thin after a while. You begin to crave routine, security and a sense of self and place. You start seeing things through other people’s critical eyes, with all the censure, judgment and forecasting of trouble that comes from people who do not themselves push the envelope.  

      Luckily, when doubt oozes in, it doesn’t hit both members of the marriage at once (at least for us). God forbid, if it did, we’d hold hands and bail with the same spontaneity that helped us leap in the first place. But it just so happens that when one member of a strong team looses site of the master plan or has waning confidence, the other instinctually bucks them up with reminders of why the great leap occurred in the first place, reinforcing the future vision with as much positive fuel as can be mustered.  It’s time to catalogue everything accomplished so far, to proclaim your faith in you and your spouse’s potential and to pause to appreciate what’s good and right about the changes you’ve already made.

 Mark and I have both had our turns as the panic stricken naysayer and the overly optimistic cheerleader, but this month, its been Mark working to snap his other half (notice I didn’t say “better”) out of a season of despair. I’ve felt isolated, frustrated and nostalgic. I’m concerned that the new project we’re embarking on will lead us away from our core plan, to live a creative, unencumbered life filled with positive people and enriching experiences.  I am, at long last, writing as much and as well as I hoped I would when we retired from dance and I fear we’re going to open a new business and drown in responsibility again, having to put life, dreams, family, and travel on hold as before.  
     It would be easier for Mark to just slap me silly and accuse me of being self-indulgent in my misery, but as usual, he’s chosen reason and kindness as his weapon of choice to battle my demons. I’m happy to say,  I’m coming out of my funk. Faith is a fickle friend.

Doesn’t it figure that when you’re feeling low, life tortures you with little annoyances?
 
I washed my phone. Not like I was making dirty phone calls to merit a sound cleansing. I had gone to an appointment and was dressed in a rather sporting outfit, complete with a matching plaid raincoat. As I pulled into the driveway, I thought I’d just pop by the barn and check on the animals. While I was there, I decided to feed the horses. Then, I figured they could use some hay. Might as well shovel some dung (in my heels) since I’m here and spread some new pine shavings. By the time I got to the house I looked like I’d lived through an episode of Survivor. So I walked into the house, stopped by the mud room, stripped down and tossed everything I had on into the washer. At the last minute I decided to pop my raincoat into the load too. About an hour later it occurred to me my phone was in the pocket. Dang.

I stepped out to my car and heard a hissing sound. Did I run over a snake? No, it was a nail. My tire was flat within 90 seconds. Double dang. I figured I better call Kathy to cancel our reading appointment and call AAA. But Kathy’s number was in my soggy phone, now sitting on the washer with a sudsy fog clouding the window. Great.  

I was planning to cancel our appointment anyway because both my kids had the flu. Kent’s version included projectile vomiting – never in a bowl, just on his bedding, the rug, the dog . . . . Neva’s strain came with a raging fever that peaked on her birthday. Talk about pitiful. She woke up with big, sorrowful eyes and announced, “This is the worst birthday I’ve ever had”. Granted, she’s only eleven, but still . . . .

I purchased a big bunch of baby chicks on-line and got a call from the post office that they’d arrived. AAA had changed my tire, so I zipped down at 7:30am to pick them up. I thought a boxful of sweet chicks might cheer up Neva. But why were they here on a  Tuesday? Monday was a holiday and the Post office isn’t open on Sunday. Day old chicks should only be in route for one day. They need food, water and most importantly, heat. Sure enough, when I opened the box, 22 stiff baby chicks were piled in a heap. Over the course of the next hour, due to too much heat from the new infrared light I set up and their stressed journey, another 16 were goners. I ended up with 3 healthy chicks out of 39.
      The company said they’d send me a replacement order. “These things happen,” they announced.   That may be true, but that doesn’t absolve my trauma. Seeing all those little dead chicks piled in a box disturbed me to the core. Silly, but I guess the fact that I was feeling low made me ill prepared to welcome 36 little feathered ghosts into my head.

    We sold our second dance studio building at long last. (It closed today.) This albatross remained empty almost 9 months – stressing out our finances and dwindling our hopes for a fiscally comfortable future. This is the third time we’ve sold this building – the other two sales fell through at the very last minute keeping the property off the market and the bills arriving in our mailbox for far too long. This time, we took considerably less than our previous contract because alleviating the stress and finally closing the door on the entire heart wrenching episode of watching FLEX die seemed worth it. But it stung.

Anyway – today the last piece of the FLEX puzzle has finally been put to rest. Talk about pulling the band-aid off slow!

Moving on:
On a positive note: I’ve spent the last two months working diligently, eight hours a day, rewriting my book. Changed the name (again). I haven’t been blogging because I’m logging a great many hours on actual productive writing projects. I’ve cut 100 pages, tightened the prose and turned what was a hunk of garbage into what I believe is a very lovely, ready to be published, book. I’ve queried 30 or so agents and begun the laborious process of sending the book out.  I have a really positive feeling about my writing now. It’s been a long haul, but I’ve grown so much.  I’ve always known there were writers with greater natural talent than I, but I knew I’d do more with it than them. Because I believe the people who last are those who love the process and enjoy the challenges. I’m a rather tenatious person.

With my first project wrapped up, I decided to turn my attentions to rewriting my second book, so I opened the file for the first time in two years and was aghast to see how amateurish and poorly written this manuscript is too. Like the first book, I love the story and I feel it’s worth preserving. Honestly, I ADORE the plot and characters of that second book.  I even sent the opening in as my writing sample to get into my MFA (can’t believe I made it in now that I see the work through new eyes. How embarrassing!) I sat there reading with a mixture of chagrin and excitement because I recognized the good and the bad in the writing. I can do so much better now. My clarity is tangible evidence of all I’ve learned and how I’ve grown. Very encouraging. And if this one doesn’t sell – hell, I’ll write another one. Each one is always better, which is very promising too.

I had to laugh though. I told my family, “You know how those crazy people on American Idol who think they are great singers? You watch them warbling away, thinking they are the cat’s pajamas, but everyone watching considers them totally delusional. You want to laugh, but you’re mortified by their cluelessness at the same time.
    Well, I’m one of those people, only instead of singing, my blind spot is writing. I thought I had talent back when I wrote that book, but I sucked the big one.”

Everyone insisted I’ve always been a great storyteller. Mark says it’s like dance. Not all students are great dancers from the start, but you can always tell those with an undercurrent of passion and style. If they keep training and diligently practicing, it’s only a matter of time until they blossom. These are the artists who often end up far better than the ones who peeked early.
  “That’s the kind of writer you’ll be. You’ve worked hard, despite frustration along the way. You’ve buckled down to get a good education, despite how hard that was on your ego, and you don’t give up. Now you’re ready to blossom. You’ve earned it. Your ability to write is based on a real understanding of the craft because you didn’t look for shortcuts. Your first books may not have been masterpieces but that doesn’t mean you are anything at all like the American Idol crazies.”

      That’s nice. But I still feel like one of those poor saps- only I’ve been holding a pen rather than a musical score.

     I spent only about an hour on the opening of book two, then closed the file. I went on Amazon and bought some research books to inspire ideas regarding the Underground Railroad (key subject matter to the plot), then decided I might want to work on a few shorter pieces before beginning this second massive rewrite. I might even work a bit on the dance book that was my thesis, torturous as it is to write. It’s the book of my heart.

The point is, I’m feeling very positive about my writing for the first time in ages, looking forward to digging in again to see what I’m capable of.

The other day, Mark and I took a day off and went to Atlanta to visit coffee shops and art galleries as our Valentine ’s Day date. We are still in research mode, letting our ideas fester and take shape. While we were there, I suggested we go to the Margret Mitchell house, a small museum I’m been wanting to see for some time. It’s really just a preserved Victorian house where the author lived (in a small apartment she called the dump) while writing Gone with the Wind. It’s now a literary center featuring readings with great authors and lectures and classes for adults (which I also want to attend). They have a second building filled with author’s correspondence and movie paraphernalia.
     Anyway, I didn’t realize Gone with the Wind won a Pulitzer Prize, nor did I know much about the author. (She got hit by a car a few years later, thus this was her one and only masterpiece.)  I never read the book, because like many people, I was spoiled by the movie. I figured I didn’t have to read the story because I already knew it. But I’m reading it now. And I’m remarkably impressed with the characterization and the history and the artful way the author handled the unfolding.
      Gone with the Wind is really just a romance, not far removed from genre writing today. When it was released, it  was subject to more hype than any story ever told. It was a commercial hit, and yet it had such quality it was applauded by the literary world too. I find it inspirational to see a commercial endeavor done with such artistic class. I want to write that way – but boy oh boy, does it take time, energy, effort and patience to develop the craft. There are no short cuts when you want to do something well. Gone with the Wind would never get published today. It’s too long and rambling for the attention span of readers today. But it’s a great example of mastery of the craft and a joy to read..

I’m so happy to have discovered it.  

And on that note – I should return to work.

Life goes on . . .

The times article about the little town we are going to build our new biz in. Cool beans!

http://travel.nytimes.com/2007/12/14/travel/escapes/14copperhill.html?ex=1355720400&en=af4ed5c5ea41ba5c&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Winter has come to Georgia.
Up until the first week of January, we continued to get weather in the 60’s – except for the occasional cold snap that caught me (and my innocent, fragile peacocks) unaware.  It was so warm at the beginning of this month that plants got confused – some dizzy daffodils and disoriented trees started to bloom – bad news for spring. Last year was a bad one (agriculturally) for Georgia. We lost all the apples, peaches and blueberries due to early frosts. Gardens barely limped along all summer due to drought. The farmers deserve a good season this year, but with the erratic weather, I’m not convinced they’ll get it. Global warming? The natural, historical shift of environment? Fluke? Whatever, it sure seems spooky.

Finally, the cold has made a grand entrance, fashionably late. I don’t particularly like cold weather, (although I think snow is lovely) but lower temperatures do offer a few advantages. First and foremost is the fact that the mud around my barn area turns to hard, icy ground, making it easy to walk around to take care of the animals without my shoes and the hem of my jeans soaking up mud until I look like the victim of some thug who poured cement in a block around my feet. It won’t be so bad when grass grows, but we built the structure in the middle of a drought, and what grass seed we tried to plant the breeze and chickens eradicated. So, I’m left with mud, mud and more mud. To combat it, when cleaning the barn I often toss the shavings (horse droppings and all) around the perimeter like mulch. Neva says this is not cool, but I feel anything is better than slippery mud, and like it or not, it does make a good layer of fertilizer for spring.

While we were in Portland, Denver took care of my animals. She called me and said, “I can’t believe you do this everyday. How can you manage it all, handle all these creatures and take care of these kids and this house and still find time to write and everything else?”
“Magic, dear. Takes almost 50 years to perfect the skill, but in time, you’ll be able to fit 25 hours of work into a day too.”
“No matter what I do, even wearing your boots, I can’t help ending up all muddy. And the cold is miserable.”
Unfortunately, my magic isn’t strong enough to keep my shoes and the floor of my car clean. Sorry. And I hate the cold too. Every winter I think I should just grow up and sell all these critters, but just when I think I can’t stand it anymore, spring comes, and I’m thrilled to have the excuse to be outside.” 

My angora bunnies love this weather. They are frisky and gloriously happy, blown up like a huge powder puffs because their hair is currently lush and long. (I need to harvest their fur, but I always worry that they’ll feel cold if I remove layers, so I put off de-hairing them as long as I can this time of year.)   I’ve put the angoras in my huge bird pens for the winter, girls on one side, boys on the others, so they have room to run and stretch. Come spring, (assuming we’re still here) I’ll let them mate, then they’ll have to move back to their smaller hutches to make room for another try at raising peacocks. I’ll feel guilty about that, but I’m a girl on a bird mission now, and I don’t suppose a new litter would be as safe in the big open pen anyway. Because of the cold, I had to figure out a system for keeping the bunnies watered. I begin every morning changing out their water bottles with doubles I keep in the house, because their drinking water freezes into hard bricks over night. Sometimes, the bottles crack as the water expands. Drives me mad. But water is vital to angoras because without it, they have digestive problems due to all the hair they ingest cleaning themselves. So, I keep the fresh bottles coming, no matter that it’s a drag. No one said winter rabbiting was gonna be fun.

At least I no longer have to crack the surface of a water bucket for the chickens anymore, because we extended their cage to the creek and that continues to flow despite the weather. I don’t even bother to bring water to the horses, because their buckets freeze too. But this means I can’t keep them in the barn for very long.  They are happiest roaming the pasture anyway. Horses have a unique physical system which keeps them warm as long as they are dry. If they are wet and cold winds blow, it lifts the thermal layer of their winter coats and they get chilled. If it looks to be a really cold, wet night, I’ll lug 10 gallons of water in jugs out to the barn and get them settled in for a toasty night. Next spring I’m promised to get a pump from the creak and a hose to give me barn water access (again, providing we’re here). Promises. Promises. We’ll see.

My pinto Saddlebred, Joy, is very antsy this time of year. She runs along the fence when she sees me, whinnies and makes a general spectacle of herself demanding attention. She is high strung, so come spring, she’ll need a ton of work to be safe to ride again. I appreciate the cold as an excuse not to work with her. I’m lazy that way.

Peppy, my quarter horse, is calm no matter the season. He looks at me with dreamy eyes and leads anywhere I wish with ease. We have this comfortable camaraderie. I’m convinced he has deep, inner wisdom so I appointed him my new best friend and he hears all my secrets as he munches on hay. I can go months without riding him, and when I saddle up, it’s as if we haven’t missed a day. If I ever have to unload all my animals, Peppy is the one I’ll fight to keep. Donkey is special too, of course, but the fact is, he’s just an indulgence. He has no practical purpose except to be cute. Yesterday I was standing by the fence and he came a put his head under my armpit and nuzzled me for about ten minutes, rubbing against my side, looking at me with moony, love-struck eyes. In winter, his coat gets furry like a bear. Running my hands along his neck is the best way to warm frozen fingers. Hey, there ya go, he does have a practical purpose.

During winter, I can’t check my bees, which drives me nuts. Bees huddle in their hive all winter to keep warm. If you open the hive, you risk killing them, so you pretty much have to wait for spring to see if mites or dysentery or something else has wiped them out. A few dead bees at the entrance of the hive are a good sign because it means they’re active inside, keeping the hive clean. Nevertheless, each time I see a dead bee, I have to sit on my hands to keep myself from tearing open the top to take a peek. All kinds of things can be happening in there.

Field mice get into hives to build a warm winter nest and spend the winter dining on honeycomb until there is nothing left. If this happens, the bees end up starving. We have tons of field mice in the area, and with the drought I have no clue if my bees harvested as much nectar to feed themselves a full winter anyway, so it’s anyone’s guess what’s inside my hive. I’m such a newbie at beekeeping, I can barely judge things even when I CAN see inside. And scientist can’t explain it, but there is a huge bee death syndrome thing happening which is a serious threat to our environment that can wipe out hives even if you haven’t done anything wrong. (I have my own theories, based on our tampering with nature by medicating bees until they build up immunity and become more susceptible to disease – but that is too complicated to get into now.)  Anyway, I keep my fingers crossed and every few weeks I go stare at that white box with the big rock on top (to keep the wind from blowing off the cover ). . . listening for buzzing inside. . . .wondering. . . hoping. This month, I’ll be ordering a swarm of bees for my second hive. Beekeepers place orders in January for delivery in spring. I keep thinking I may need two, but I feel if I order an extra swarm just because I don’t have faith in my current bees, I’ll jinx them or something. I’ve decided to hold out hope and see what happens. Faith counts when working in tune with nature.

My ducks don’t seem to mind the winter. The pond keeps freezing (not enough for me to skate on, unfortunately, but enough to support dogs and birds who are curious about why their swimming hole is suddenly hard.) They walk around the surface, slipping and squawking in the most awkward way, as if they’re in a Saturday night live skit. I worry about their safety without the pond to swim in, because they’re literally “sitting ducks” out there on the banks. Especially considering the wildlife is hungriest in winter. The first thing I do every morning is look out the window and count beaks. If one of my birds is under the dock or hiding in the woods I get worried and can’t start coffee until I play where’s Waldo, the duck version.  Not like I can do anything if one of them becomes a coyote’s frozen dinner, but still, I can’t start the day without first releasing that huge sigh of relief.

My llamas are wooly, designed for the cold, so they seem fairly happy with the weather. My newer, girl llama has gotten very comfortable with me, and yesterday she ate out of my hand for the first time. She is temperamental and standoffish, so this felt like some magnificent conquest. She doesn’t look very pregnant to me, but Mark insists she’s getting fatter. . . and meaner. I have to admit, she eats like she’s pregnant, always trying to push donkey away from his food to get seconds. Poor donkey, everyone picks on him.  I suppose her pregnancy will show more as we get closer to June. Will be interesting.
 
My chickens don’t much like the weather. Since there are no yummy bugs out and about, they no longer peruse the pasture – they tend to stay in the barn or perched on my hay bales. You may recall me complaining that my chickens wouldn’t lay eggs for months and months when we began. Well, now, don’t ya know, I’m complaining that they won’t STOP laying. Chickens usually don’t lay when the days grow short, but my girls are hearty machines, dropping eggs daily even when they’re supposed to be on vacation. In this weather, the eggs freeze and crack so I have to toss them out into the woods where they eventually get eaten by wild creatures.  Occasionally, I get lucky and pick up an egg or two freshly laid and still warm. But to be honest, a single egg is a dangerous thing for an absentminded girl like me. I inevitably put them in the pocket of my leather coat, and since it is an odd egg, I forget it’s there. I come  back home and toss the coat onto a table, wincing as the jacket sails through the air, knowing what I’ve done even before my loaded jacket hits the surface. I’ve cleaned egg out of my pockets more than once this month. I’m a slow learner.

So, this former spoiled Florida girl admits winter can be a drag, and not just because the car windows need defrosting before you head out for the day.
But on those days when the Georgia snow filters down, soft and light, never enough to interfere with functioning – just enough to decorate the world like icing on cake, winter doesn’t seem so bad.

My parents say, “Don’t you miss the sunshine and beautiful weather of Florida?”
Really, I don’t. Because I believe contrast and change is good – it serves to help us appreciate what is wonderful and good. A monotone existence, even when the level is lovely and the message grand, tends to numb the listener ears. I did appreciate the mild weather of Florida for things like running,  but overall, I like how the landscape here changes from season to season. I like how my wardrobe changes as hats, scarves and piling on layers give me a wealth of new fashion opportunities. I even like how the food changes as I strive to eat seasonally. I like pausing to witness the trees sleep, their branches knarly and empty like the bones of an old man, until the leaves bud like goose pimples on someone’s arm. I am fascinated by the animals shifting attitudes, my kids playing in the snow, and mesmerized by fires as they leap and change color, warming the room and my insides equally well. True, I don’t like the mud, but hey, you must take the good with the bad.

Winter has come to Georgia, something to celebrate. And in only two months, it will be gone, which is something I’ll appreciate as well. I’ll hose down my shoes and make a party of it by tossing grass seed into the air.

A few friends have written to ask where I’ve been. I haven’t forsaken the blog-sphere…  just been on a break. Usually this happens for one of the following reasons:

1. I’m feeling down. I happen to be one of those people who withdraw when she’s feeling melancholy. Nothing serious, just life stress and/or events triggering a less than jubilant attitude. It might even be environmental, because as winter sets in, this old Florida girl misses the green landscape, mourns the loss of her garden, and gets sick of sinking ankle deep in mud when feeding livestock with frozen fingers. The point is,  I see no reason to subject others to my pity party when I’m down, so I go on a blog hiatus.
2. I’m busy. Putting up a Christmas tree, shopping, making cookies, etc. etc. can eat up blogging hours to be sure.  Real life sure can get in the way of a girl’s indulgent computer time. It’s a darn shame, I tell you.
3. I’m distracted by another project. Example: Lately, I’ve been diligently working on my book. I’m spending a good 6 hours a day on revision, 3 days a week or more (unfortunately other days are consumed with laundry and other mundane chores I can’t seem to Tom Sawyer my way out of.) I’m committed to finishing one decent novel and sending it out, and now that I’m on a roll, I don’t dare let up for fear the productivity will sizzle out. You don’t know how easy it is to sit down in the computer chair and start blogging, and next thing you know, months have gone by and you haven’t written anything except mindless life notes. I think I’m ready for my writing to amount to something more tangible.

Anyway, this past 30 day blog break is due to all of the above categories.   I’ll be back more regularily some time soon …

What I think I’ll do in the meantime, is post my yearly family letter. I write one every year to include in Christmas cards to friends and family as a yearly update on the Hendry activities. It’ll be redundant to some of you who received the hard copy – and it will be far more info than others of you care to read… but for a few old friends who just stop by occasionally to see how we are doing, or those long lost friends who Google me and show up out of the blue (always a thrill) it makes for a great one shot Hendry family overview. 

Here, by the way, is our tree this year. We take the holidays at a calm pace now-a-days. No more extravagant lights outside, no pushing to make Christmas spectacular as if it’s some kind of mid-year recital. We just try to make things lovely yet simple too, then we make sure to pause and enjoy the season. This year, we took everyone to a 6 mile outdoor light display, our big holiday event. And one day, Mark and I stole off to enjoy an afternoon at the High Museum to see the next chapter of the Louvre exhibit, then went to a Jim Brickman Christmas concert – about the most romantic pianist in the universe. Other than that, we stick to simple celebratory things, like cookie decorating and gathering to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life.” We even scale back on shopping now, which is easy when you live in a place where there’s no mall and very few stores. We scheduled one big day at a mall and that was it for shopping – we figured one day of commercial frenzy has to be enough. Christmas just feels more meaningful for us without the endless acquisition of things no one really needs. Shopping exhausts me, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Don’t laugh. It really does. 
The point is, we’re  no scrooge – everyone will get what they want most… but the rest just feels like clutter.  

But the one area that we do still bother to go all out in, is our tree. Filled with hundreds of ornaments that all have a story, our tree is a monument to Family history. It’s a big tree, but then, it would have to be. We’ve been together a long time and as such, have lots of ornaments to symbolize the places we’ve been and the stages we’ve been through. Decorating this tree is a two day, full family event. But it is a walk down memory lane, and that alone makes the effort a joy.

Here it is:


The mantle is decorated with greens Mark and Kent collected on a walk. Lovely, I think. It’s free, smells good (or so I’m told) and proves that Christmas doesn’t have to come from Walmart

OK. Here is the long diatribe about the Hendry’s in 2007. Snore.

Greetings from the Hendrys, a family now headed into year three of the great Georgia adventure.

It’s been a year of exciting accomplishments and realized dreams, but a year of painful disappointments and dreams gone amuck too. (At least it gives our life balance in a weird sort of way.) What counts is that we are all happy and life is still engaging on so many levels. 

Raising a family is not unlike singing Ten Little Indians. As the song of our life plays out, characters step aside, until all the little Indians are gone.  If nothing else, recognizing this makes us savor the family time we have together all the more. We count our blessings often as we watch our children (and our own selves) evolve and grow, moving into more mature stages.

This fall, Kent got his license and immediately landed his first job as a cashier at the local supermarket. While we’re proud of his work ethic, we can’t help but feel slightly cheated. Our newfound opportunity to share family meals and spend more time together has been fleeting as our sixteen year old son, with a gut full of ambition and a teenager’s agenda, takes his first steps towards independence.

Still a drummer, Kent landed the coveted position of quads in the high school marching band and spent the season traveling and competing with this progressive school activity. (The band placed 1st in state competitions.) The family has enjoyed going to all the home games, even though it’s true we spend more time cheering for the band and critiquing the cheerleaders than watching the football players. (Neva is partial to the concession stand.) Kent also has been developing a rock band with his guitar playing best friend. Dance may not be our life anymore, but our home is filled with rhythm all the same, like it or not. He is, as always, a model student and son, excelling in school, growing taller every day, and maintaining that down to earth sense of humor that keeps us all smiling. 

Neva  continues to be an avid soccer player, playing in both the spring and fall seasons. She spends a great deal of time writing poems, short stories and essays. One of her pieces was selected to be printed in the Georgia Literary Festival’s magazine and, always the attentive scholar, she’s been invited to participate in the National Young Scholars Program at the University of North Florida. She still plans to be a veterinarian, however, and spends plenty of time at the barn hob-knobbing with her friends; the chickens, llamas, donkey, rabbits, horses and whatever else Mom might be adding to the ark at the time. Neva always has ink on her fingertips and dirt on her bum, but that’s what makes her the vivacious entity she is.

We still love our hobby farm life, but it has had its share of disappointments.   A hawk carried off our two year old silky rooster, Yang, last month, and Neva is mourning the loss still. An unexpected cold snap killed our three young peacocks, which had Mom in a funk for days. (Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in the area of poultry sensitivity.) An early cold snap killed all the blueberries in Georgia, seriously interfering with Ginny’s ambitious canning plans, but she made up for it with a larder filled with peach, pear, and blackberry jam, followed by gallons of marinara sauce and salsa. Then, there were her winemaking pursuits. She produced some 200 bottles of wine this year, including blackberry, strawberry, tomato (yes, you heard that right, she makes wine from tomatoes) apple, Riesling, Merlot and Pinot Grigio. She’s moved on to cordials now too, but promises she won’t build a still, even though sometimes she gets a Dukes of Hazard look in her eye that does have the family wondering. . .   

We collect eggs daily from our chickens and guineas, tend to our angora bunnies and two llamas (the female is due to have a baby this spring) have two horses, two dogs and one beloved donkey to keep us busy. Ginny is also keeping bees now, looking forward to harvesting her honey this spring. She’s even learned to make organic, natural soap products. Mark spends hours each week on his tractor, bush-hogging the fields, clearing land, hauling hay, and opening up the creek or landscaping. Yes – when we watch Green Acres we consider it a reality TV show! 

Despite the unprecedented Georgia drought, we planted a garden this spring which produced lettuce, beans, tomatoes, squash, cantaloupe, and peppers, not to mention one measly pumpkin that became our pride and joy this Halloween. We planted apple, peach, and pear trees, not to mention hundreds of bulbs, which will make this home a true paradise in a few years when the plants mature. Land development included clearing dozens of week trees and changing our creek into a one acre pond. Our home is a labor intensive work in progress but all the effort has started to take hold. Even if we don’t live here long enough to enjoy it all (due to the unfortunate business scenario) there’s something very poignant and rewarding in knowing you’ve left a place better than when you found it.

Denver has been living in her own apartment nearby and has been working at a local coffee shop while deciding what direction she wants to go with her life. This fall, she attended an eight week intensive silversmith jewelry course at Penland School for the Arts in North Carolina and she’s decide that what she wants most is to forge a career in jewelry craftsmanship. She’s now looking into additional training venues at the local craft schools and is considering returning to college to study the field more in depth. We are thrilled she’s discovered her passion, not to mention that mom likes the very cool jewelry she receives for birthdays and Christmas. (One of the perks of having a talented daughter.)

While we are on the subject of this child, I should point out that Denver and Ginny walked 60 miles in the Atlanta three day breast cancer marathon in October in honor of Pat East. Together, they raised 4,400.00 for this special cause. It was great fun (albeit we had our testy moments sleeping in a tent in the freezing cold and attending to our blisters) but we both considered it a precious life experience -meaningful for many reasons. Even now, two months later, Mom still has one jet black toe nail to prove she went the distance. The sore feet went away. The memories will last forever.

Mark has continued his studies of woodworking and furniture design in preparation of his new vocation, making cabin décor items for the business we will be opening (more on this in a moment). He has taken classes at the Campbell Folk school, Highland Hardware in Atlanta and The Dogwood Institute of fine woodworking to hone his skills. He’s spent the year building and organizing a professional workshop on the back corner of our 50 acres. At long last, it’s up and running. Ginny is thrilled to see pieces of rustic furniture making their appearance in the house. For those that don’t understand what falls into the “cabin décor” category, we’ve included a picture of a few pieces he made last week for our entranceway. The chairs, table, lamp and shade are all Mark originals.) Mark is also making rustic brooms, baskets, wood turned bowls and other hand crafted items for our soon-to-be store. It’s hard work, but he finds great satisfaction in the process as his creativity and ingenuity manifest into rustic, one of a kind pieces for vacation homes.

(Mirrors are hard to photograph, but this floor legnth mirror (prettier in real life) made it’s way into the bathroom this week. For the first time in two years I could take a good gander at my entire image at once. Eesh. I’m on a diet. . . . )  

Ginny was thrilled to graduate from Lesley, earning her Masters in Fine Arts in Fiction this June. This was a lifelong dream for her, and as such, a very meaningful accomplishment. After two grueling years of study, she took a 4 month sabbatical where wondered if she’d ever write another word, but then she returned to her writing with new vigor and enthusiasm – not to mention refined skill. She’s busy rewriting the very first novel she ever penned, a historical fiction. She’s satisfied with the evolution the story is undertaking and insists she loves the task, even though the family sometimes wonders as they hear groans and mumbled admonishments coming from her office as she looks at her amateur effort with a new, trained eye. Writing, like any other skill, takes diligent practice and many years of hard work to polish. She hopes this year will be the year it all comes together for her.

Meanwhile, Ginny is teaching two writing classes at Appalachian Technical College (memoir and fiction) in January and she’s been asked to lecture at the Blue Ridge Writer’s conference in March (Proving the degree does have some practical application after all.) She still maintains her blog, so friends can keep in touch, and she’s going on her second year as a reading tutor, still active volunteering with the Georgia Literacy Commission. She’s helping to train the new reading tutors and facilitating monthly meetings to support and encourage new tutors and to develop creative approaches to helping the illiterate overcome their obstacles. This volunteer work is very close to her heart.  

But not all news is happy news. This season, we had to accept the ultimate finale of FLEX, our previous business. After a bitter struggle, many personal offenses, and the frustrating ordeal of witnessing nonsensical business choices that only cost everyone involved sanity and money, the new owners went bankrupt and closed the school for good. After eighteen years of hard work and sacrifice to build the school, it was painful to see it destroyed so recklessly and needlessly, not to mention that this had a financial impact on the family which is now forcing us to shift plans. This was a very personal and painful thing to go through, but at least we can now cut our losses and move on. And so we will…

For us, this begins with our plans for a new business.  We recently bought a lot in the quaint town of McCaysville and will be breaking ground in January to erect a rustic freestanding building to house The Bean Tree, a coffee house/Appalachian Art gallery and cabin furnishing store. Our vision is to create an environmentally friendly business, serving organic fair trade coffee and green products with a commitment to locally grown produce and handmade items selected to support local artists.  Ginny will spend mornings making baked goods and preparing specialty gourmet foods for the store, and Mark will fill it with furniture and hard goods. We hope to produce our own organic soaps, canned goods and specialty items too.

With marketing and management skills experience hard gained from running a dance school, combined with our entertainment experience, we hope to make the Bean Tree a unique gathering place for people who love nature and art, featuring special events, such as book and wine clubs, senior meet and greets, and writer’s groups. Featured entertainment (musicians, storytellers, and poetry readings) will be scheduled in the evenings for residents who enjoy mountain living but long for intellectual stimulus as well. Located across from a train station that brought 55 thousand tourists into the town last year, we feel The Bean Tree has great potential. Ginny is even toying with the idea of publishing an in-house magazine for customers and Mark is researching website design and ways to expand our potential through e-marketing and sales. With hope, we will be opening in October of next year, so news of this venture will come in next year’s Christmas update if not sooner. Of course, everyone is invited to join us for a cup of coffee anytime!

For all that we are excited, we are ever aware of what we don’t know too. In January, we are going to Portland Oregon to attend Barista School (a fancy name for a serious coffee school) to learn the details of coffee house management, restaurant design, equipment maintenance and even how to make fancy artistic latte’s. (After years of putting it off, we were finally planning an European vacation, but well . . . . sometimes life gets in the way. It’s coffee school for us instead!) Then, in August we’re off to Pennsylvania to attend an art gallery management seminar and convention as we diligently fill the holes in our understanding of what this new venture will involve. We know there is a learning curve to any new endeavor and all businesses are subject to their unique headaches and risks, but we look forwarded to working together as a couple again to build another business that encompasses all the things we appreciate and love at this juncture of our lives.

Anyway, that is the year in review. We are all still in transition, but perhaps we always will be, for isn’t that a part of ongoing growth?  Life isn’t always smooth sailing, but at least it’s never boring. And while it’s sometimes scary, it’s also fascinating for each member of our family to finally discover what lay hidden beneath our leotards.
 
Happy Holidays to all,

Love,
The Hendrys

Some say,Mark is a guy who goes “over the top” when it comes to creative pursuits. Well, here’s a picture to prove that’s still the case, even in Georgia, when it comes to his Chrismas tree. Who else needs a twelve foot ladder to decorate the top of their tree?

Before and after… Bet some of you can even pick out an ornament or two that you gave us over the years. They are all there.