planning for the new year

For mom, a story about being a vegan before 6pm (VB6).
Holidays. Nice.

christmas wishes

So this is the obligatory "Christmas was great," post.
I told a friend of mine that this Christmas I was treated like a spoiled only child, because I got such nice gifts - at least that's how I feel. For almost two years now, I've been putting off replacing any cookware. "It's a big investment, and I don't want to pack it." Still, my favorite piece bit the dust. Small black flakes regularly came off the bottom of my next favorite pot. And a few months ago, when I starting playing around with suet recipes, I melted one of my rubber spatulas onto the bottom of the pot also.
These pots have mileage is what I'm trying to say. 21 years. Purchased before I went to college, they've lived in Table Mesa, Boulder on the Hill, Toccoa, and now metro Atlanta. A good run for pots purchased with Greenback stamps from Piggly Wiggly. My parents ended all that benevolent reign with 4 shiny new Calphalon pots. 3 of them have a 10 year warranty and 1 has a 20 year. We'll see if they perform as well as the Piggly Wiggly line.
And after mixing things in a plastic entree container, my mother decided I also needed some mixing bowls. I got five. And because I mentioned that I needed to get a larger kitchen rug so I could get another one for my front door, I got one of those too. And on and on and on. I even got a new birding book from my dad, who mumbled something as I read through it, something about being damned if he was going to get me any guidebooks about Colorado.
I didn't quite catch that comment though. I'm sure he's coming around.
It would be easy, with all my riches, to concentrate on the great things I got for Christmas. What made me most happy however was that after months of trouble, my dad was feeling better after an epidural shot. Instead of being flat on his back the whole time because he was hurting, dad was able to spend time with us. He doesn't have the final solution yet, but he's improved, and that made a big difference. And significantly, two years ago my mother wasn't in the kitchen but in the hospital, breast bone split open like a chicken, getting a quad bypass. Even before that, she spent hours nodding off on her sofa, uninterested in everything around her. She barely read, she wouldn't walk, she wouldn't cook. Slowly, she had drifted away.
This year, she was experimenting with new recipes in the kitchen, baking her Christmas presents this year, growing a batch of winter lettuce in her container gardens. I remember once during the holiday that I smiled at them and remarked that I was debt free. I got the same smile from my mother later in the week when she remarked that if she loses one more size, she will be the same size she was when she got married. Part of that stems from changing eating habits, and part of that is because she started walking the dog. The dog loves it so much he begs to be walked twice a day instead of once. She complains that she's created a monster. But she's walking him twice a day, whenever possible. Because he's like their kid and is as spoiled as I am.
So, I'm delighted to get cookware with a 20 year warranty. I really am. But I embrace my family's improving health even more, because I know we don't get a guarantee with that, ever.
The new year will hold lots of changes, I believe. Some will be the result of planning and hard work. Some will be things we don't expect. It seems important to me, then, to reflect on what I'm thankful for right now.
Merry Christmas, everyone. Hope you had a great time.
--Laura

seasoned greetings

To everyone, I wish you a warm (if possible) and safe time of rest and refreshment.

Seasoned Greetings, ya'll.

-Laura

Coosawhatchie House

Coosawhatchie House, originally uploaded by lalapapawawa.

When I was 8 or 9, my family moved to a dot on the map known as Coosawhatchie, South Carolina, located in Jasper County. At the time, people in this county were the lowest per capita income earners in the state, sharing a border with Beaufort County, which was the highest in the state owing to Hilton Head Island.

At that time, my dad was friends with a local farmer, the father of someone I went to grade school with. The farmer owned and farmed thousands of acres in the area. Tucked away in a small corner of all this land was a small brick ranch style house, and it was a drain on his books because despite being unoccupied, he had to pay taxes on it each year, amounting about $300 dollars. When he found out dad was interested in moving us closer to his work on the island but remain close to mom's work in Ridgeland, he offered up the place in exchange for paying the taxes each year.

The location was nearly ideal. The house was surrounded by land where we could have a garden, chickens and a horse, and not only did it face the water but it backed up to Dawson's Landing, a public boat ramp. It was a living situation impossible to pass up.

If you leave Ridgeland, South Carolina by the frontage road and head for Interstate 95, you'll find Highway 462. Go a few miles down a two lane highway shielded on either side by thick stands of pine and water oak, and you'll discover an unremarkable paved road on your left. A state road sign will tell you that there's a public boat landing at the end of that road. That's an even smaller, less frequently paved two land road, still flanked on either side by stands of trees. At the end is a small parking lot. Long ago the lines for each parking slip faded. At the back of the parking lot is an open air covered structure where fishermen clean their catch and where boaters party when not on the water. It had electricity running to it so it was also where I hosted my 9th birthday party so my friends and I could play loud music and roller skate.

To the left is the boat landing itself. A wide concrete ramp descends into the water below and a rugged dock build from thick timbers coated in creosote ran out to the water with steps down to a lower platform where one could tie up and board a newly launched boat.

Just before you arrive at the landing, there is another unremarkable road leading to the right. It's dirt, not even a road really but two ruts that run between a stand of trees and the fence that marks the county's property line. The curves to the left and marks the edge of a scraggly stand of pines covered in honeysuckle vines. Just beyond this is the edge of a large field where the farmer's planting was done, but for the most part this is hidden from view and easily ignored.

If you were to follow the road further, you would come to a fork. The right fork ran for miles, serving as an access road to the rest of the fields in the farmer's possession, and access for the state forestry's fire breaks, large swatches of unforested land kept clear of trees and debris to provide a break should fire start and try to spread along the tree tops.

The left fork ends in the backyard of the Coosawhatchie House. There is a large oak tree between the driveway and the back steps leading into the house. And several shade oaks, sagging with Spanish moss, stand between us and the Coosawhatchie River, an intercoastal waterway. It is a dark and fertile brackish, carrying fresh water sweet enough to drink from Allendale down to the Broad River on low tide and on high tide bringing back water salty enough to entice the occasional shark. In the old days, trees were farmed nearby. The trees would be felled and rolled off a large lumber platform into the water to float the river to a processing station. The operation long since ended by the time we lived there, but the platform remained a few hundred yards from our house. In the heat of summer you could bust bubbles of the hot sticky tar they had used to waterproof the timbers. Even if I left the house in shoes, I'd return with black toes from running them through hot creosote.

I don't remember the inside of the house in detail. I don't remember if there were two bedrooms or three. It was only important to me that I had my own room, though I remember my parent's room better because it was painted a deep shade of blue and because there was a window seat on one end. I remember the room feeling large, as if it might at one time been two rooms. And toward the end of our time there, my mother was ill, and it would be a room I would see in my anxious dreams.

But that did not happen first. We lived in the salad days after moving in. The kitchen was open to a small front room with a fireplace in it. One door led down the hallway to our rooms while another opened to the livingroom. The door on the other side of the livingroom opened to the back porch, which was screened in and always seemed cluttered with unfinished projects on my parent's perpetual to-do list. I don't remember seating on this porch and never regarded it as anything more than a pass through to the outdoors. I never lingered there. There was always something more interesting elsewhere.

This is the landscape I recall in memories. Any inaccuracies would be a factor of time and my age. But this is how I remember it.

--Laura Burke

Visiting

I'll admit it. I like dinner parties. I really like them when I'm attending them and it's someone else's job to make my evening relaxing and comfortable.
I say that because my friend gave a dinner party recently. It was attended by a good company of people, many of our mutual friends including some I didn't know. There was also great food - warm, mulled sangria. Roasted Garlic Shrimp. Swiss Raclette (Cheese melted in a special broiler, and then scraped over fingerling potatoes), Antipasto with lots of greens, assorted cheeses, hard salami, priosciutto, peppers, onions). Warm spinach and artichoke dip. Swiss Meatballs. Bacon wrapped steak, chicken and shrimp. Creme Brulee Tarts. Espresso.
Within all the hustle of Christmas preparations, it's very nice to spend an evening with people waiting on you hand and foot. Even more important, it's nice to reconnect with people you might have lost touch with during the year.
I think "Visiting" is an art. It keeps you sane.

--Laura

what makes santa cry

Drug Breakthrough

FDA Approves Depressant Drug For The Annoyingly Cheerful

ships of safety

So, I discovered the Indigo Girls just before I arrived at college. It's kind of cliche to say this, but they wrote the soundtrack for many of those years. They were Georgia girls. They are still Georgia girls. I remember how excited I was to see them at the Fox Theatre in Boulder.
It was college. It was live music. I had left the farm. It was also the first time it dawned on me that they were lesbians.
There's no real point to that story, just a random memory about how truly clueless I can be sometimes.
So after a frustrating day at work, I cranked the key on Pearly Lee and blasting from the stereo (yes, old Pearly Lee still has a tape deck and AM/FM radio), was Amy and Emily, singing Closer to Fine. At other times in my life, there was a phrase in the song I identified with.

I spent four years prostrate to the Higher Mind, got my paper and I was free.

That meant something poignant to my degree-seeking self. So true, I felt. So true.
Tonight though, I heard a different part of the song:

Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I'm crawling on your shore.

The truth in the words became clear. I think when it boils right down to it, it's hard to believe that there's good out there for you, unless someone is telling you constantly. What falls in your lap is yours to keep, but accomplishments beyond that require a certain confidence that you deserve them. The downside though is that when you accept the ship of safety, not only does it become your only life experience, it can surprise the hell out of you by not being safe at all. Ships of safety can drag you straight to the bottom. Even more telling, you can ride it to the bottom willingly, thinking you're protecting yourself.
What's your ship of safety? What's the lie you're listening to? Crawling to shore takes some effort. Believe me, I'm learning this first hand. True, I would like a more constant source of positive affirmation to make it easier.
We, who are about to jump ship, salute you.
--Laura

Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols

For as long as I can remember, people have appreciated my singing voice. It's something I'm pretty low-key about, if you'll pardon the pun. It's never something I've really worked at. I've been given a voice people find comfortable to listen to. In fact, the last time I was at mass in my parent's town, the woman in front of me turned around at the end and said, "it was so nice to sit in front of you. You have such a nice voice."
I get that all the time.
I wish all the people who say that could come with me each year to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols, because at last, they could see a group of performers who actually work to make singing a beautiful experience.
Based on the traditional service at King's College Chapel in Cambridge, this event has been observed at Emory University since 1935. Christmas music has been performed by a university chorus since 1925, beginning with the Glee Club.
There are so many reasons I enjoy going to this event. First, Emory campus is beautiful. Just going there makes me want to start a research paper. Second, there's a sentence on the first page of the program: Because this is a sacred program, we request that there be no applause.
And there is none, even when you want to clap, even after the last chorus member has left the building. Third, it begins and ends in candlelight. Fourth, there's absolutely nothing commercial in the entire evening. You walk up to Glenn Auditorium, receive your ticket, find a seat (it's general seating), make small talk with those around you, and wait. And then, in silence and candlelight, it begins.
It's a quiet center in a season devoted to noise and action. I've always been of the opinion that beauty has its own value. When you see or experience something beautiful, it elevates something inside you. It is something you can look back on as an anchor when things aren't so beautiful. I think that's something that should be available to everyone. At least everyone who has things in their life that aren't always beautiful.
All this to tell you that my favorite song of their program is the one you see below. It's called O magnum mysterium, written by Morton Lauridsen.

Tree: Real or Fake?

I have a collection of random memories surrounding the holidays. A few days ago at work, we were discussing family traditions and the eternal christmas question - Tree: Real or Fake.
Well, our family had two adults with opposing viewpoints on this topic. My father was a Fake Tree Man all the way. And he bought a tree that was the biggest annoyance of my holidays. Well, he bought this tree well before I was born, and in his mind it should last at least until I was ready for the nursing home. My dad was a practical man. A one-time investment, spread out over Christmases Infinite would mean the tree would cost pennies by the end of its evergreen life.
Mom wasn't convinced. Don't get me wrong, mom would use the tree in a pinch. Some holidays were just too hectic for tree hunting. But she wasn't one to give up on a Real Tree.
Bringing me to those random memories about tree hunting. This all took place either before the concept of tree farms became very big, or because mom couldn't get dad to relinquish the thought that the tree should be free. But my mother was raised with a rural mindset. She wasn't to be discouraged by that rule.
And that's where the bow saw came in.
Some time, it would have been before I was 10, we lived in the Coosawhatchie House, on the coast of South Carolina. I remember being at home when my mother arrived from work one afternoon.
"I saw the perfect tree, right on the side of the road. Get the bow saw."
Off we went. My mother drove a dark blue station wagon at the time, so having the capacity to haul a tree was no problem.
"Mom, we can't just cut down someone's tree."
"Of course we can. It's on public land. No one is going to notice." Well, she was right, it was on public land. We drove across the interstate. We turned off on the frontage road, which ran between I-95 and the railroad tracks. A few yards down, she pulled over to the side and pointed to the top of the hill.
"That's it. It's perfect."
I focused my attention where she was pointing. A ridge ran near the train tracks, and growing near that ridge was the top of what looked like a pretty decent tree. And that's what mom wanted me to cut.
What mom didn't realize from the road was that the tree was growing on the other side of the ridge, so we weren't looking at the entire tree, just the top. I remembered explaining that to her as I stood on the ridge.
"Well just cut off the top, that's all we need." So I did. And because we couldn't put up the tree until closer to Christmas, we took it home, stuck it in a big 5-gallon bucket and filled that with water, setting it discreetly on the porch until it was time to put it up, still in that bucket which would be covered with a tree skirt.
I think of how often my mom travelled those roads as a community health nurse, and how often she must have passed that tree, deciding if it really was perfect for Christmas. That day, I might have been a little embarrassed, but I had a fearless mom. And Real won out that year.
I hope, this year, as we are all perhaps tightening our belts more than usual, that you're making wise decisions about what things to concentrate on and what things to let slide right on by. Whether it's a tree, a favorite recipe, or someone special who needs to hear how much you care about them, I hope this year, you fearlessly choose Real over Fake too.
No offense, dad. It's a metaphor, and I'm sure that old tree misses you.
--Laura

downtime

I like the holidays. I like when they end.
My parents left today. We had a good visit. They got to see one of my favorite museums. We enjoyed good food, thanks to my favorite Five O'Clock Chef. We had quiet time we needed to share with one another.
Today, it's time to prepare for next week. Wash linens, remake beds, prepare lunches. This while my dogs move only to follow the sunlight as it streams through my glassed front door, picking a new place to sleep with its changing location. When they woke up though, I put the leash on them and walked them around the block. In the evening, I'll take them again. Because it's back to work. It's back to routine, at least for a while. Routine plus! Plus obligations, plus Christmas preparations. Plus gift buying.
One night, as my mom and I drifted off to sleep, I told her how intimidated I was by the thought of selling a house -- the first I'd ever done it. She told me I was a strong person, both mentally and physically. I think part of that is what good mothers tell their children when they are expressing doubt in their own abilities. She doesn't tend to judge my failings. She's the kind of mother who acknowledges that some things are tougher than others, while stepping back to let me seek my own victories.
Now that my debt is under control, I have one issue over which I am seeking victory. I won't discuss it now, partly because it's a private matter and partly because quite frankly I'm concerned about failure. In generic terms, I'll say it hinges on consistency. It's something which, if not taken more seriously, will impact my future to a greater and greater degree. It's also something which will impact my ability to enjoy my move and my dream to become a store owner.
So, in the category of "knowing what I can control and what I can't," I'm going to worry less about being upside down in my house. I'm going to worry less about selling or renting the house when the time is right -- there are professionals out there who make it their business to make those things happen. And I'm going to worry less that I'm moving for all the wrong reasons, the end result that I'll leave family and good friends behind, and not find satisfying connections in Colorado.
Instead, I'm going to concentrate on gaining some consistency in an area of my life that's immediately in front of me, because I know that I'm smart enough to deal with what's ahead. But I need to believe that the obstacle directly in front of me isn't standing in my way, but is truly the preparation I need to master, because it will train me and prepare me for the future.

-Laura

thankful things

I have a bulletin board on my kitchen wall, where most people put notes and phone numbers. I have a list of, well, affirmations if you will. This is what it says:

• I will pay off my debt
• I will finish bootcamp
• I will remodel my backyard
• I will move to Colorado
• I will become a store owner

Well, minus the first one. I just scratched that out. So, normally this is something only a select group of people see or pay attention to. But I didn't erase while I was doing my regular cleaning for company. I've had the week off and my parents came for a visit. Because of this, my aunts and uncle and many of their kids stopped in on Sunday. I'm thankful they visited. All 10 adults and 6 children. I'm VERY thankful they visited for one day.

Well, by the time I noticed, at least two of my cousins had read my affirmations and commented on them. Now normally, I'd regret having my personal business discussed by my family. This week, it just made it feel normal. Yes, it's normal that Laura would have plans.

This week, I've had the opportunity to walk around the block every day with my mom holding my hand for balance. We grab the dogs and go. Two years ago she had a quadruple bypass, and today we made a Thanksgiving meal together. I'm thankful for that.

My dad spent a few hours in the ER this holiday, getting his leg checked out. And as we came out, he got me a cup from McDonalds. I'm thankful for his thoughtfulness.

And for my final thought, I'm thankful that I have direction for the future. I have new resources I didn't have before that debt was paid off. I have investments I need to make in myself, things I've put off for a while. But with the help of friends and family, I'm going to succeed.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE

--Laura

Wednesday

No family gathering would be complete without a trip to the ER. It's interesting that my dad has been to the local hospital more than I have.

--Laura

more layoffs

I've never gotten a pink slip before. I think it must feel pretty bad to lose your job and know you have no hope of finding a new one until at least January. The logical side of your brain tells you that you've got severance and unemployment. The emotional side must still freak out.

It's a surreal thing, to be on a successful account in a failing economy. Worse yet to see people being fired when we have so much to do there's surely room for more staff. Restrictions are everywhere, right at a time when we should be celebrating an achievement.

I'm not complaining. Well, not exactly. I'm just wondering if it's stuff like this -- holding back those individuals who are succeeding because the rest of the company isn't -- if it isn't stuff like this which prevents the economy from bouncing back. If the economy hasn't shell shocked you, wouldn't now be a good time to wake up and stop acting shell shocked?

Just saying.

--Laura

This evening, on the way home from a party, I heard the following on the radio.

I think a person can show too much patience. But you can never show too much forgiveness.

What do you think of this idea? First, patience. What is patience, but endurance under some kind of adverse condition? Normally, isn't that a great attribute? I think so. Definitely. Now, should it have limits?

I think it should. I think the limit should come where the person or event requiring your patience has taken away your power to freely offer it. In other words, are you being patient because you know it is the best response to a given situation, or are you being patient because you fear the outcome of impatience? Don't kid yourself. If you're only being patient because you feel paralyzed at the thought of doing anything else, maybe you've reached the limits of your patience. Maybe you should find the power to express what you really feel, and the courage to accept the consequences of being yourself.

Now, forgiveness. I think forgiveness, and by this I mean true forgiveness and not just the nice gesture people give because they think it makes them good, is always a gift. It's always under your power to give to another person. Maybe you can think of a time when it's not given under your own power, but I've thought about it for a while and I can't come up with an example, because simply put, if it's not freely given, it's not forgiveness. It's something else.

So, I think when that person said that forgiveness should be limitless, what they were actually saying is that your power of self-expression is what should be limitless. You should always maintain a sense of responsibility over your own emotions, with the right to express that you are a human being, subject to human failings and frailties, with the power to move past them, and start over. Or if not start over from square one, to start again.

You should always maintain the power to start again. Yeah. I agree with that. I never want to give up my power to start again. If forgiveness grants that gift to special people in my life, I always want to have the ability to do that for others.

You're right. It's something to think about.

--Laura

It's here

My new bike arrived today. It's a diamondback wildwood, and we are good friends.

Who knew I needed a hex wrench? What girl is supposed to own a hex wrench, like, on purpose?

I think instead of buying one, I should take it to the bike shop and have them tighten the things I can't tighten without one, and check my work. It's stylish though. I can't wait to get it grimy.

Geez? Who owns a hex wrench?

--Laura

chapters open, chapters close

Words I'm getting tired of hearing:
Layoffs. Downsizing. Staff Reductions. It is what it is.
So when news came today that a position within our team would be eliminated, offering the associate few choices for continued employment, it's hard to react with much passion. Our account has survived 3 rounds of layoffs unscathed. Until today.
Let's keep our heads down as security ebbs away, shall we? Who will lead us in song?
I'll be more witty next time, I promise.

-Laura

milestone

Last Friday, for the first time in over a year, I received a paycheck without sending money to my credit card company.

I rock.

brendan behan

Brendan Francis Behan (in Irish, Breandán Ó Beacháin) was an Irish poet, short story writer, novelist, and playwright. Behan, who died in the mid-60's, wrote in both Irish and English. As a man of words, you would probably not expect him to also be a volunteer in the Irish Republican Army, but if you're familiar with Irish politics, you'll know that being an Irish republican and using their native tongue is intimately intertwined, owing to repressive actions by the British over Gaelic's use.
For most of his life, Behan was a drunk, a fact he rarely denied ("I only drink on two occasions -- when I'm thirsty and when I'm not."). Still, behind his willingness to play the comic buffoon for his audience was the ability to capture the essence of the human experience. One such insight was in describing the Irish word "uaigneas."
In Irish, this word is an adjective, meaning loneliness. And to give it the shade of meaning an Irishman would give it, the word comes from the Irish word for a grave (uaigh). Would you like to say the word out loud? Depending on the region of the country, it's either pronounced "oo-ig-nas," or "oo-ig-nach" (the "ch" like that in Scottish "loch.").
Anyway, Brendan Behan wrote his version of a Haiku on "uaigneas." Since he'd rather it be displayed in both English and Irish, I will do it here as well. Here it is:

Blas smeara dubh'

treis baisteach

ar bharr an tsleibhe

I dtost an phriosuin

Feadaoil fhuar na traenach

Cogar gaire beirt leannan

don aonaran.

=========================================

The taste of blackberries

After rain

on top of the hill.

In the silence of the prison

The cold (sharp) whistle of the train.

The laughing whispers of two lovers

To the lonely.

=========================================

What else could I say to that? Let the images sink in and I think you'll see what I mean. Anyway, I challenge you to find equally starking illustrations.
Behan died at age 41. It was reported that the route to his final resting place was lined with thousands of people, people who probably felt his words sink in too.

--Laura
(p.s. -- thanks to Micheal O Murchu for the etomology lesson)

Even hippy parents can be cool

I think I'm very lucky to have a good adult relationship with both my parents. They treat me like an adult, until I need them to treat me like their kid. They do a great job at discerning when to do both.


It's really nice to have parents like that.


About a year ago, my dad called my credit card company and negotiated a lower interest rate. Neither of us expected them to do it. But what we'd neglected to realize was that my credit rating had improved dramatically from my college days. They dropped it 5 percent. I would still be paying it down if they hadn't. I'd also still be paying it down if he hadn't been helping me pay it. I make a big deal of sending in double payments for a year, double payment amounting to 30% of my take home pay. But he also helped. And we didn't talk about it much, but it also meant a lot to me.


Here's the result:

A few nights ago, my mother called me, because she was viewing my amazon wishlist. When they upgraded to DSL from dialup, it really changed their world. Anyway, she was commenting on "all the Colorado guidebooks" I'd put in my wishlist and wanted to know if I'd gotten any of them. I told her, no, but that since I'd promised myself that I was going to move with a car and with money, when I got back there, I was finally going to be able to see all the things in Colorado that I hadn't been able to see the last time. I had a lot of exploring to do, hence the books.

Her reply: Well honey, some of these are pennies. I think I'm going to get some for you.

Moms are cool like that too. Even hippy ones.

I know you both read my blog, so thanks guys. I think there are lots of people my age who wish they had such supportive, concerned and discerning parents as I have.

---Laura

Vacation Day

I've missed Colorado a lot recently. So today, since I had the day off, I spent some time in the North Georgia mountains. I hauled the dogs with me from Blue Ridge to Blairsville. We tried to get to the top of Brasstown Bald, but I think it was too much for my tires.

The colors were a little past peak. And while the train depot to the Blue Ridge Scenic Railway was packed (I had missed the departure by about 30 minutes), the town wasn't really buzzing. Later in the month, weather permitting, I'll be able to ride the train with my parents. Today, dogs in tow, wasn't the day.

Mollie loved the ride up there. Petey, as always, was stoic about the whole thing. I put him in the back; he stays in the back. Mollie bounced from the front seat to the back seat to the cargo area like a rabbit. By the end of the ride, she was asleep in the back. Right now she is stretched out on my foot, apparently paralyzed.

Me? The trip didn't help me miss Colorado any less. I guess it helped focus me, to do whatever I could to get back there as soon as possible.

--Laura

Let the Wheels Come Off

Last night I really wanted a haircut. Unfortunately, I didn't leave work in time. So I decided to color it instead and went to the local CVS.

Well, everyone in Mableton who was over 70 and owned a car the size of a tank decided they needed something from the same store. Already raining, 4 of the spaces were covered in water. You couldn't park there unless you wanted to have water up to your ankles when you got out. Then there were not one, not two, count 'em FOUR spaces where someone in an Escalade or a KING CAB or a HUMMER couldn't manage to park in one spot, but in two. That's a dozen spots absorbed by stupidity. Take another four as handicapped spots and your options become extremely limited. Man, I hate those huge cars.

I got my color, and I colored my hair, but the next day wasn't much better. It boils down to this: I have people who have gotten so used to my babysitting services that they forward issues to me when they don't even know what the issues are anymore. I'm not the BIG GUN, no. I'm not Sales, afterall. I'm not signing the contracts. This must be why I feel like I'm steering the cruise ship from the BACK rather than the front.

It is time to steer my own boat. I'm going to start with my own bike. This is the Diamondback Serene Citi 26" Women's Comfort Bicycle. It's not a mountain bike. It's not a roadster. It has a seat for my butt size. It only has 15 gears. I'm getting the large, 17-inch frame. And next payday, I'm going to ask Amazon to mail it to me, with free shipping. And I'm going to ride it, and it's going to teach me how to steer everything I do from the front, instead of from the back.

Yay, Technology.

--Laura

stop drop and rumble

My cousin was a cheerleader in school. So was her younger sister. I guess it makes sense that as an adult, she would volunteer to be the cheerleading coach for her youngest daughter?

Welcome to the south. My cousin's daughter is on the far left, the one who rushed the tempo on the part where she announced her name.

Time for a Bike

One thing the fitness bootcamp has taught me: I'm not a runner. The running I've done for Ken shreds my knees. But I enjoy walking, and I enjoy being outside. So now that I'm debt free, it's time for a bike.

Try to tell that to Sears. I go there to have a look at the bikes, and there are none in stock. Dozens of treadmills. No bikes. I know, get it from Craigslist, right? But seriously, I want a bike I can return if something's wrong with it. What's the point of a store that you can't make an impulsive bicycle purchase?

Two Weeks of Inactivity

I mentioned earlier that I paid off my debt Friday. I thought it worth mentioning again. To do that, I made a triple payment this month. This didn't bring me down to Zero again, but it did impact my savings. This means I have two weeks to kill before I can start building a savings account with my own money - money I owe to no one else but myself.

get the lead out - retiring the debt

Hello. My name is Laura, and I am debt free. I am a rock star.

Random Things

It's amazing how wonderfully helpful people can be when you ask.

The Meltdown begins

My fitness instructor finally made me cry today.

You may be asking yourself, Did I know Laura had a fitness instructor? Well, I do. His name is Ken. He reminds me of Louis Gossett Jr., in An Officer and a Gentlemen. For example, this picture is hauntingly familiar.

In September, I joined his six-week fitness bootcamp. Five women were supposed to join. Two women showed and one was me. For those of you who've never done this, and in fact never considered it, I can give you this insight: It hurts.

Before our arrival, we were told to do three things. Hydrate. Bring weights. Eat a breakfast with protein and carbs. Unfortunately, because I was worried about throwing up, I ate 2 hardboiled eggs and no carbs. This will become important later in the story.

The first week began with The Assessment. Okay Ladies, in two minutes please, do as many pushups as you can do. Now, in two minutes do as many situps as you can do. Next, jump rope! Now, jumping jacks!

I know, if you're doing the math, you realize this was 8 minutes long. Pitiful. Okay Ladies, that was an assessment of your current fitness level. We're now ready for the workout. Mind you, I knew that was coming. I just didn't want it to come so soon after dying. And so we ran around the track twice. And jumping jacks. And jump rope. And weights. At this point, I should explain that I was praying for death, and happy for a break from lifting my feet high enough to walk. That feeling died once we started. Remember how I had only eaten 2 hardboiled eggs, with no carbs? Right. I softly dropped the weights and sat down on my knees. Ken was immediately at my side.

Fight through the pain, Laura. Don't cheat yourself.

I'm not in pain, I answered. I'm fainting. And I explained, in detail, what was going on behind my eyes, and that I hadn't actually eaten the multi-grain waffle with a smear of peanut butter as I had claimed earlier. He looked down at me for a second, then said, Well, okay. You're done.

Of course, that was a lie. Because after the weights were over, he wanted us to run sprints. Remember, there were only two there, so us meant me.

Today was our 4th week. It was cold when I arrived. Real cold. My friend was ahead of me and had walked the track already but complained she couldn't get warm. So I joined her, and decided I was going to run it. For the first time, I made it all the way around without stopping. Ken saw us. He was walking up when we finished.

That's great, ladies. We need to do it three more times. Mind you, my brain interpreted that as One Down, Two to Go.

So when I finished the third loop, I was tired but pleased. Ken was not. One more time, Laura. I explained my interpretation of his instruction. I wasn't here, so it didn't count.

I did that last loop, but that had started us out on the wrong foot. Because today was a lot like last week, only we did more of it, and we did it longer. And he didn't just tell us we were going to do more, he lied us into more.

Okay Ladies, we're doing planks. Holding for 15 seconds. 15. 14. 13. 13. 13. 13.

You're stuck! I yell.

Okay Ladies, we're doing one more rep of weights. We do this. Okay Ladies, one more. Huh?

So I cried. (In case you're wondering, this does not get you out of sprints).

I'm a libra. Please don't lie, even when I'm having an emotional meltdown. Thanks.

--Laura

get the lead out - separating the women from the mice

I have great news. I will retire my debt in October, about a month sooner than expected.
This goal has been on my mind so long, I'm not sure what I will obsess about now!

That's not precisely true. I know what I will obsess about. The truth is this: I'm now officially in freak out mode. I'm coming to the point in my preparations where I must deal with NEW challenges. Help!

The first time I moved to Colorado, I was called there, by a college acceptance letter. Once I got that letter, I prepared financially and physically. When I arrived, I had a room, a job and a task waiting for me.

When I moved to Atlanta, I had a job waiting for me. Atlanta was never a location I'd have picked for myself, but it was a road out of the small Georgia town I didn't want to become my home. I was expecting it to springboard me into OTHER opportunities. I've learned the hard way that if you don't like where you live, you won't enjoy the way you live either.

This time feels completely different. There's no acceptance letter calling me, for one. There's no snug ugly dorm room. There's no job. I'm not Expected.

Why can't I be Expected? Imagine me saying that with a little whiny kid voice and a pouty lip. See, I've arrived at Big Girl Grownup territory. I'm not moving because I've been Called or because someone is looking out for me. I'm moving because it is what I want for myself, because I want to like where I live and what I do. I haven't been called there. I'm trying to buy my own ticket and get a ride on the bus, arriving in town Completely Unexpected.

For more than a year, my debt stood in the way. By the end of the month, it will be gone. Am I happy? Of course, I am proud of myself. I'm probably in the best financial condition I've ever been. It took skimping to make progress without raises, bonuses or cost of living increases, to pay down a debt and to build some savings along the way. I did that during a recession.

How could I not be proud of myself? Let me share that you can be terrified and proud of yourself at the exact same time.

So what's the next step? Rent the house first, move once I find a renter? Scramble around looking for a job once I arrive? I have friends who did that. They made it. Should I try to find work first, then scramble around looking for a renter? I could try that too. Should I just move, then scramble looking for work, a place to live and a renter? I could do that too.

I don't know the answer. I know searching for work long distance is going to be challenging. I know finding a new place to live is going to be challenging long distance. But it's all going to be a challenge, so prioritizing it is just a mental exercise.

So, anyone hiring? Anyway, look forward to the end of the month -- I will post a pic of the $0 balance on my card!

--Laura

get the lead out - part XI

It's Sunday. The end of my vacation. Meals are prepared for next week, laundry is done and folded, ready for the next week as well.
This week I cleaned my backyard, getting ready for the fall, getting ready for renters when the time is right. I will post some pictures later on. I've got a rather enormous burn pile to ignite, but I would like to clear up a minor case of poison ivy I got removing lots of vines and plants from the back of my fenceline.
I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to accomplish. We had 2 rain soaked days (like we need anymore). When the sun came out, some tasks were hampered by the wet ground. I wasn't digging dirt, I was digging mud, and actually broke a shovel handle.
I wonder sometimes if this makes me too ungirly. I guess it would be more attractive to try weeding in a dress, or feign helplessness and get someone stronger to do it while I brought him iced tea. Is that what I should do? Men complain that women don't like to get their hands dirty doing chores, that they would much rather be getting their hair and nails done. But when we are capable of doing some heavy lifting, it's unattractive somehow.
We're apparently supposed to be handy without getting grimy.
I don't understand it. So I'm going to bed. I'm tired.

--Laura

milestone

I turned 39 years old. Friday. It was a good day. My 39th year promises to be interesting.

--Laura

the big sit

You have to love this.
The 15th Annual Big Sit! will take place on Sunday, October 11th, in backyards and National parks all over the country.
It is sponsored by Swarovski Optik, and hosted by Bird Watcher’s Digest (a magazine I don't subscribe to, in case anyone was wondering what I'd like for Christmas), and the New Haven Bird Club.
The Big Sit! is an annual, international, noncompetitive birding event. It's free, but there are contests available to teams who register. Every team that observes this year's "Golden Bird" could win $500. The golden bird is chosen AFTER the event -- after all teams submit their lists, the bird is randomly chosen from the total list of all birds spotted. And if your circle listed seeing the bird, the circle will be put into a drawing.
Some people have called this event a "tailgate party for birders." Today there are Big Sit! circles all over the world, including Guatemala, India, the Netherlands, England, Vietnam, and New Zealand.
The simplicity of the concept makes The Big Sit! so appealing. Find a good spot for bird watching -- preferably one with good views of a variety of habitats and lots of birds. Next you create a real or imaginary circle 17 feet in diameter and sit inside the circle for 24 hours, counting all the bird species you see or hear. That's it. Find a spot, sit in it, have fun.
However, in past years, Bird Watcher's Digest has encouraged bird clubs to use The Big Sit! as a fundraiser, by organizing a Big Sit team and collecting pledges for each species they tallied. If you visit their website, listed above, you can even find sample pledge forms to assist in that effort. It would be a great way to raise money for conservation or a special project. And the nice thing is, if it's ideally situated, you could even do this in your own backyard.
Being this movement originated in the Northeast, when you view the list of registered clubs, the states with the highest numbers tend to be in the New England states. For comparison, Georgia only has three registered clubs. Colorado only has four.
I think next year, Colorado may just increase their numbers by at least 1. I think it would be something I can look forward to hosting in my new home state.

--Laura

get the lead out - part X

I am on vacation next week. I can't wait.

The last time I made a Get the Lead Out posting, I was talking about getting my resume out there in November. October has plans of its own.

I'll admit something. Having such a large, long-ranging plan in my head has been challenging at times. When the next 10 steps ahead of you are revealed, it's hard to concentrate on what's right in front of you. It's easy to feel that the next step should be to call in reinforcements. Reinforcements aren't bad. Reinforcements don't mean you're weak. Please, reinforcements, come running.

The worry is manageable at this stage, when I stay focused on what is directly in front of me. I have a debt. It will be retired on November 20th, only if I stay disciplined. Ergo, discipline is necessary, along with hitting the Submit button on those transfers to my credit card. Meanwhile, there are few other options, and I'm working on them all. Today, for example, I got checks and a debit card ordered from my Colorado credit union. By next week, I'll be able to transfer my direct deposit and my auto pays and I'll be all set, thanks to Jeremy, the efficient credit union representative I've spoken with about a half dozen times since opening this account, more than I've ever spoken to a banker.

But like I said, October has plans of its own. In order to rent this place, the backyard needs to be lower maintenance. So here's what I want to do:
- Cut the azaleas down from the back wall, leaving the hostas and the sweetshrub
- Remove the dying shrubs from the back fence
- Fill in holes dug by the dog
- Remove the clothesline pole if possible
- Cut the honeysuckle from the vine
- Clean the gutters
- Pull weeds from the garden and seed with wildflowers
- Pull weeds from the blueberry patch
- Burn the burn pile for the last time
- Build a wall around the burn pile
- Fill with dirt and mulch (for a bird feeding station)
- Mulch the flowerbed against the back fence
- If time, plant something new against the back wall and mulch
- put a guard around the air conditioning unit
- cut down dead tree on side yard
- replace the dead tree with... something
- mulch the flowerbeds in the front yard too

My plans for help? Well, I have a 76 year old woman who's going to stay with me for a few days. I will have her weeding the flowerbeds in the front yard. The rest? I don't know. The thought of it all makes my head hurt a little. So I joined a fitness boot camp. I need someone to boost me up a little, help me manufacture some new energy for the plans.

I do this to myself all the time, I swear. So now, what I'm going to do is reel it back a little.

I have to cut down the azalea bushes. I have to cut down the azalea bushes.

I have to pay off my credit card, that's first. In the yard, I have to cut down the azalea bushes. That's first. If I don't get to the rest, I am going to take Mama Rose with me to Blue Ridge, Georgia, and we're going to ride the Blue Ridge Scenic railway and take in the fall colors. I'd love to be taking my parents with us. Maybe next time, mom and dad. The list is long, I know. I may not finish it the week of my vacation. I will finish it.

-- Laura

Guam, where I was born

This is a picture of Tumon, Guam. I was born in Agana. which was recently renamed Hagatna, to more accurately reflect the local pronunciation, though I don't know if the new name as stuck all that well.
For my parents, who remember some of the FIRST hotels to be built on Guam, here's something of the flavor of hotels they have there now. And if you're not into city scenes, here's something over the water. And a shot for those of you who like waterfalls.

I'd like to see it again, as an adult.

All these pictures are taken by JrManuel, a photographer who lives on the island, and clearly loves it.

--Laura

is the timing suiting me or am i just ready?

About a year ago, I joined an online financial tool -- mint.com
It's a cute, helpful budget device, collecting all your financial information in one location to provide a convenient financial snapshot of your activity. Additionally, you list all your funds, your vehicles and your home, and it accesses published resources to tell you their suggested value.
The news on my property has been discouraging. I have to say, I didn't think it carried up-to-date values on property until the day I saw the bottom fall out of the value of my home. In the space of two weeks, I went from a position where the sale of my home would bring me a 40-50K profit, to being upside down in my loan.
For all you math students out there, that affects your net worth!
Two weeks ago, I noticed the value of my home had increased. Still less than I owed on the note, but not as bad. This week, the projected value has increased again, and the good news to report is that if I sold it today, I could expect a profit. Not nearly as much as I could have gotten two years ago, but it's a start.
For me, it's encouragement. During these challenging economic times, I've been extremely fortunate to have a stable income. And I've been using the money to repair my debt position. While many have dug a deep hole of debt, I've been able to climb out of the hole. And when things turn around, I will be able to take advantage of the improvements.
Will I be able to sell my house before I move, or will I need to rent it until the prices improve? I don't know that yet. A friend of mine and I discussed that yesterday, how it's a shame that I'm not ready to rent right now -- with the flooding that happened this week, people are going to be looking for new places to rent; new places to live. I would love to be able to sell the house without a problem and move without having to worry about keeping this place rented. One of my friends rents her condo. Another friend rents her house while living in Arkansas. I know it can be done, but it definitely requires persistence.
Doing it alone is daunting. I will have to be committed to keeping this promise to myself in order to make it happen.

-Laura

The road is gone

This is the road I'd normally use to get from my house to the gas station. Well, it's the back side of that road. The front side was full of cars and others taking pictures and I couldn't get a shot. So I went to the opposite side.

enough already

Flooding all over the place today -- 100 roads closed in my county. 3 people dead in the county west of mine. We'd appreciate some clear skies.

get the lead out - part IX

If you don’t live in the south, you may be unaware that we are flooding. Well, that’s dramatic. Most of the flooding we’re experiencing is the result of overwhelmed storm drains. Once the rain slows a bit, it has time to catch up. It has served, however, to cancel most of my weekend plans, including a six week fitness boot camp I signed up for and today’s plans to weed my garden, the first step in my backyard fall preparations, which I’ll probably write about at some later point. Every time I try to weed, it begins to rain. I also discover that mosquitoes do NOT mind the rain. One day I’m going to accept that I’m highly reactive to mosquito bites, and I’m going to find something stronger than Cutter Skinsations to repel them. It seems nice. It smells nice to me, a girl. It moisturizes with Aloe and Vitamin E. It just doesn’t work.
So indoor boredom has brought me to the computer, and back to my main story.
I’ve gotten some interesting responses to the plan I shared in part VIII. Most of them involve some shade of You want to do this now? Are you insane?
The answer, of course, is no. I guess some are under the impression that stores magically open, fully evolved, from fairy dust.
I do think, however, that the best time to plan is when times are bad, so I can take advantage of improving economic conditions when they happen. And the declining economy has helped focus me, forcing me to divide my task into chunks I can manage more easily. Because I am impatient to move forward, it has helped me focus on what I can do NOW.
When I first entertained this idea, I was ready to relocate and open the store simultaneously. And that seemed like such a big job, it would keep me awake nights. I finally came to understand something. I have lots to do before I can start a store. So I don’t need to delay those things because the store remains a few years away. I also don’t need to delay a move.
But I will tell you, I realized this about a year ago. So, what has prevented me from calling a mover and loading up Pearly Lee and the dogs? When I last lived in Colorado, I was a student in Boulder. Some have asked if this goal to move is just a wish to relive the past. It’s a fair question, posed by people who don’t have all the facts.
In school, I worked full time and was still behind financially. I did lots of creative financing, and with credit card applications on every bulletin board, it wasn’t difficult to accumulate four or five. It didn’t seem foolish at the time, because other friends had them. However, where other friends were using them for skiing or camping equipment, I was paying for tuition and books, and getting seriously in debt. I remember how my mother once ordered a cake to be delivered to me on my birthday while I lived in the dorm. I worked in that dorm cafeteria. So I ended up cleaning the bowls they used to make it, standing in a yellow tiled kitchen with the window open, because even across campus, we could hear the sound of the crowd cheering while the Buffs played a football game.
When I graduated, my dad spent a lot of time and made a lot of phone calls, negotiating and berating creditors. With lots of resistance and very little assistance from me, he got my credit cleaned up. I was operating on autopilot, however. I made more than I spent because I didn’t spend that much, and that was fine. I didn’t have kids, I didn’t have expensive tastes, and if I wanted something big, I would put some money aside or put it on a credit card. I wasn’t really prepared for emergencies, but I hadn’t had too many emergencies, so I felt like I had a reasonable handle on things. But when I began assessing my situation, when I faced the prospect of changing the direction my path was taking, memories similar to that cake memory weighed heavily on my mind. Truthfully, I didn’t have much of a handle on things at all.
Do I want to move? Absolutely, I always have. I want to return, in part, because of the experiences I had while I was there. I enjoyed my surroundings – the low humidity, the changing seasons, the geography, the quality of life there. But I don’t yearn for a past I lost. I yearn to live in Colorado the way I should have the first time. I don’t want to return if I can’t do that. I’m older now, and time is nothing to fritter away. And I don’t want to be so bogged down with my financial burdens that I can’t enjoy a glass of wine in a field of flowers or be a part of a satisfying new adventure discovering a grove of aspen trees. And once I get there, I will decide if my idea of a satisfying adventure is a weekend at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs, or using a camping stove to heat up Spaghetti-Os. I’ll be honest. I think I want to do both.
And that is a perspective-changing realization. Back in October ’08, I had two debts, not including my house, and no real aspirations beyond a middle class routine where you “always have a debt.” But to move, and to do it successfully without creating more debt in the process, to start a business, to take care of myself by myself, I have to do things differently.
It’s now almost a year later. I have retired one debt. It will take a month longer than I hoped, but my payoff date for BOTH debts is November 20th. I joked with a friend of mine that I’ve become an expert in writing amortization schedules, to make sure I’m staying on track. At the beginning of the year, I promised I would not renew my driver’s license this year, that’d I’d be moving by October. I won’t be able to keep that promise, and I have been feeling defeated by that. But with a plan in place to rent my house, and with a debt off less than a few hundred dollars, I may not be moving in October, but I will be ready to look for a job in November.
Among other things. More on that later.
--Laura

intermission - part IV

Because it's funny:

In Memoriam: Mary Allin Travers

Mary Travers died last night, September 16th.

I hope you know who that is, but if you don't, she was Mary of the 60's folk group, Peter, Paul and Mary. You should follow that link and read the statement from her bandmates and friends, Peter Yarrow and Noel Paul Stookey. We should all be so lucky to have something just as nice said about us.

So I was brought up a bit short this morning when I got to work, mentioned her passing to the assembled crowd, and the response was, "Who's that?"

I had to sing a few lines from Puff the Magic Dragon before they knew who I was talking about. That was after I sang the If I Had a Hammer song, and they had no idea what I was singing.

When a celebrity passes, a person you never met, the only thing you can really comment on is how they impacted your life, and not who they were. By the same token, I think when you remember someone, you're doing that anyway, regardless of how well you knew them.

Hence, I share with you what I shared with my officemates. I was raised by hippies.

Now, my parents weren't Naropa Institute hippie fakers. I was raised by genuine organic farmers, people who did this before it was even mildly cool. Who planted gardens with a Burpee Seed Catalog under one arm and a Mother Earth magazine under the other. They were fascinated by earthen houses, solar power and cold frames. My parents protested the building of a creosote plant on an SAA classified riverway in South Carolina. My mom had a separate account for HER spending money, and it wasn't something dad dribbled funds into either, it was financed with chicken eggs, homemade bread, and stuffed animals she sewed when she wasn't doing community nursing in some of the poorest areas of rural South Carolina. My mother is a feminist who told an Edward Jones representative that if he was investing HER retirement fund, he'd better call and consult with HER and not ask for MISTER BURKE, THANK YOU.

And while my dad has to own up to an extensive collection of records by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, with all their suggestive cover art, they also listened to folk music. Dad decided that if Joan Baez were that ugly, she had to be a good singer. They both had records from the Kingston Trio, the Mamas and the Papas, and Peter, Paul and Mary.

That's what I grew up hearing. I know most of the lyrics to the Moving album and I think I could do a respectable job with the See What Tomorrow Brings album as well. They sang to me because my mother didn't sing. When I got older, I learned how to sing harmony while listening to Mary Travers, and I guarantee that, partly because of this education, I picked up tunes so easily my highschool choir teacher thought I could sight read. I made it to All-State HONORS choir because of those records. But that's not all. Because of Where Have All the Flowers Gone, I knew about Pete Seeger, who wrote the song. Because of Blowin' in the Wind, I knew about Bob Dylan, who wrote the song. Because of Leavin' on a Jet Plane, I knew about John Denver, and understood why my parents had John's albums too. Because of that, I thought Colorado... might be wonderful.

I guess it's fitting that I'd find myself a few years later in a boarding house on The Hill in Boulder, Colorado, listening to a Peter, Paul and Mary concert on public television, bawling my eyes out. I remember the caretaker of the boarding house knocking on the door to my room. I answered. She took one look at me and asked, "Are you alright?" I nodded, pointed to the television as if all would become clear if she saw what I was watching.

She paused only briefly. "Oh. Rent is due tomorrow." She had evidently decided I was not a suicide risk. The jury was still out on other psychiatric intervention.

I've learned my lesson. This morning, when I got such a similar reaction, I called my hippie mother.

She totally got it, man.

Thanks Mary. I know you marched on Washington. I know you stood up for civil rights. But your songs were my lullabyes. I won't forget.

--Laura

“We’ve learned that it will take more than one generation to bring about change. The fight for civil rights has developed into a broader concern for human rights, and that encompasses a great many people and countries. Those of us who live in a democracy have a responsibility to be the voice for those whose voices are stilled."

--- Mary Travers

get the lead out -- part VIII

But what do I want the store to look like?
I want to be practical about this part. I’ve been visiting local bird seed stores for pointers. In this area of the country, they are typically in strip malls with a grocery store. And though there’s a strong pro-environment profile in the franchise’s mission statement, it’s not marketed in this area. Most of the stores here focus on the backyard birdwatcher, and finding them the best products for their needs. The retail space, therefore, is your basic rectangle, stocked from floor to ceiling with all kinds of product. Is that going to be my store? Maybe. But for right now, while nothing is set in stone or subject to the limitations of reality, I’ll describe what I’d like my store to look like. And for this exercise, I’ll be specific and refer some to Longmont.
During my April visit, I walked downtown quite a bit. It would be foolish at this point to set my sights on any one building. Downtown is littered with many buildings which could suit my purposes, even small homes converted to office or retail space like I’m familiar with in Helen, Georgia. One great advantage of this downtown area, however, is that it’s a primary north-south artery through town; not the only one, to be sure, but it receives significant traffic each day.
Within the 242 acres, there are nearly 300 businesses of all varieties and sizes. While I visited, I also compared Longmont’s Downtown with the nearby town of Loveland. Loveland differed in two respects, both I consider important. First, it had a split downtown, with the north and south roads leading through it acting like the legs of a ladder. It almost seemed as though it had been designed to keep the traffic clogging businesses off main street, situated on the perpendicular steps. It gives a divided feel the to the downtown area. I can see some advantages in terms of parking, on the diagonal, directly in front of the store you want to visit, but on the day I visited both, the downtown Longmont area was buzzing, even on a weekday, while downtown Loveland was deserted, and I was panhandled twice. Second, the residential area surrounding Loveland’s downtown is pretty shabby looking. I think that might have fed the decision to have Work/Play condos built as the main jewel in the center of Loveland’s downtown. I’d be interested in seeing if that development is going to take off as the economy improves – when I visited in April, the entire retail space was empty, beyond a salon and a pizza joint. As a resident, why would I buy into the Work/Play concept if there are no shops in the development? The answer is that, no matter how cute it is, I’m not going to buy there until things pick up.
And to be safe, I also walked around Twin Peaks Mall, also located in Longmont. For a year, I’ve been reading their local paper, the Times-Call. One thing I’ve learned from reading it is that there are MANY readers who LOVE to complain. However, they have a point when it comes to Twin Peaks Mall. With weeds growing through the concrete sidewalks and empty parking areas, you can feel the deterioration. From my reading, I gather there is some push and pull over using city money versus developer money to revitalize it. Regardless of your opinion, the development needs a facelift.
Main Street through Longmont is one of the primary arteries through town. Parking is located on the street, with parallel parking. Additional diagonal spots are located on the side streets. There are lots at various places behind the Main Street stores, with open, paved walkways from the rear to the front. And if you travel a few blocks back, there’s additional parking, but you’d have to take a few sidewalks back to Main.
So in the interest of being specific, here’s my favorite building. But there’s a problem with it, one I think is a deal breaker. There is no main floor. There are two units in this space, but both require climbing. It’s a shame, because while the downstairs unit would be darker, it has some nice exposed beams in the ceiling, and I could definitely work with it. But unless it could be made handicap accessible, I wouldn’t feel comfortable using it.
But now that we’ve established that it’s not ideal, let’s use it as a template, shall we?
The location is nice for a few reasons. Parking is close, from either side of the street. It’s also near a corner, where there’s additional diagonal parking, giving people choices. That’s not all. It’s positioned between popular restaurants, and near a coffee shop. Right across the street, there’s a church. It’s not a church anymore, but I suspect it won’t become retail anytime soon, so I wouldn’t need to worry about competition. It’s a historical landmark, and is currently being used as the St. Vrain Historical Society building.
One thing about renting retail space is to find the most square feet for your needs, but not too much. I want to have guest speakers and crafts for the children, but I won’t need that space all the time. Luckily, there are two nearby facilities which rent space: The Old Firehouse Art Center, and the Longmont Rec Center on Quail Road.
What else is good about the place? I think it positions me for outreach to the community, as it’s a block away from a daycare facility known as Our Center, which you can read about here. I would like my store to partner with them, if possible. I think they do a valuable community service. I’d also like to offer opportunities to local schools, for birdwalks. I’d also like to model a fundraising activity after something being done at another downtown restaurant, Abbondanza, described in this article.
Inside the store, I want to have some room to show off the merchandise. I don’t just want rows of feeders in boxes, but places to hang feeders. I don’t just want some bird baths, I’d like to have a few pumps working to make a water feature in the store. I want the kid’s area to be hands on, a place where kids aren’t afraid to touch things. I’d like to have a few comfortable chairs in the reading area, to entice people to browse. At the shade grown coffees and teas display, there should be hot tea and coffee to sample. I also want a wall with a large map of the state. During the year, I’ll use it to mark where my customers have spotted the first hummingbird of the season, or outline great trails for birding. I want to print out pictures that my customers email me with birds they’ve spotted at their feeders, or in the wild. I want to hold contests for amateur photographers. I want to make it easy for them should they want to get prints done of their birds. I’d also like to feature our contest winners through the year on a series of printed cards for sale in the store, with proceeds benefiting local wildlife organizations. I’d like to carry the work of professional local photographers, consignment style, with prints for purchase.
In downtown, I’d like to team up with the local downtown businesses. I think when you’re a small business owner, you hang together or you hang separately. There are lots of stores in the downtown area doing interesting things, and even as a bird store, I could support them. During the summer I’d like to get a local expert in, say from Audubon, and have him give a talk about urban birdwatching. But why contain that to my store, when the birdwatching is outside? Why not charge a nominal fee and have a progressive stroll through downtown? Each stop could be at a different gallery (there are 10), where there’s a selection of wines and appetizers from local restaurants. Some of the restaurants in the area feature locally grown produce and locally produced cheese from nearby dairies. If the group of us teamed up, I think we could easily be our own advocates for the Buy Local movement. At the end, I’d give each customer a LODO Gift Card, for use at any of the downtown businesses, so as a group we could track how successful the events were by how many cards were redeemed. The progressive lecture series could be geared for adults, teens or children, depending on need. That, coupled with participation in the events already ongoing in the area (Artlink, Second Fridays, the Outdoor Film Festival, parades, etc), should go a long way toward establishing a strong profile for my store.
I guess that doesn’t tell you much about the inside of the store, does it? Well, maybe it does. I’m a lot less concerned with which building I choose right now. I think that will ultimately be a decision based on the most favorable business factors I find when the time is right. But what goes into the store, and its profile, that’s up to me.

get the lead out - part VII

First, what I want my store to do:

According to a U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service Survey, over a two-year period, one out of every four Americans does some bird watching. These are the bird watchers. However, of those 60 million watchers, only about half can identify even ten species. Only a fourth can identify twenty. Three percent, 7 million, know at least forty species and are therefore worthy of the more serious title, birder. For the record, I can identify 18.

Clearly, the larger target audience is the casual birdwatcher. These are people first coming into their own, enjoying the experience and delighting in each new discovery. I want to make that experience as interesting as possible.

I want to sell products, yes. But many of those products will also be available more cheaply in big box stores. What I must focus on is relationship. I know my own buying habits and the buying habits of other birdwatchers. They will occasionally go elsewhere if the bird store’s hours aren’t convenient or in search of a good deal. But all it takes is one negative experience with a big box store to convince them that paying a little more is worth it. And negative experiences with big box stores are more common than you might think.

I want to share enthusiasm with customers who want to learn. If someone knows 5 species of birds, I want to help them learn 5 more. If they enjoy watching birds while sitting on the porch, I’d like to show them how to enjoy birds in the local park, or wilderness trail, even during a downtown stroll. I want to expose them to local experts and give them fun ways for sharing the hobby with their children and their family.

I want to use the store as a vehicle for community involvement. Small businesses hang together or hang separately, and including my local businessmen means they are successful when I am successful. I also want to convey the idea that as a community, we can share with one another. I want to provide an easy way for people to connect. I want to be the person they call for all information about local birding activities.

I want to give back to the community, sharing some of my resources to make the community more bird friendly, providing organizations with fundraising opportunities, and sharing my knowledge with kids, youth groups, the elderly and other populations who might not otherwise be exposed to such a versatile hobby. You don’t have to be a tri-athlete to enjoy birdwatching. You don’t have to be rich either.

I won’t share all my ideas. But I have lots of them, for entertainment, marketing, and advertising. And after my visit to Longmont in April, I’ve been able to flesh out these plans with specifics – a few great locations, a number of great community resources, and outlets for me to plug into as well, where I can begin connecting with my community from day one if I choose.

--Laura