Conscious Communications

Land and Legacy

gwen — Sun, 30 Dec 2007 18:17:00 +0000

It’s been six months since my last blog. I’ve been very busy in the busy world doing lots of busy, busy things.

However…it’s the end of the year – and almost at the start of another one – that we often allow time to slow down, take stock and reflect on what has been and what may be.

For me, this January 1st, I will do the opposite of what I was doing on January 2005. I will be driving to Manhattan, rather than away from it. That was the day I moved to Asheville from NYC.

I’m off for a few days to see a couple of clients and visit old friends.

But, when I return, the year promises some changes in my life because of the changes I made in my life recently.

I earned my real estate license, and I’ve spent the last several months immersing myself in all the available opportunities to learn about the market. I’ve also finally got serious about looking after my investments and paying attention to the financial market. I’ve gotten a thorough education on just have closely those two are related. I think we all have.

I’ve always had an interest in this area of life –now, I have an opportunity to hone in on them and use the knowledge to help create the life that I want for myself.

If you’ve been reading my blogs, you know I’ve had a keen interest in gardening and sustainability – mostly since my short stint in Byron Bay, Australia. Real estate is, after all, primarily about land – who owns it, controls it, uses it, improves it, and wastes it. It is natural that I am interested and involved.

I guess I became intensely interested when I discovered that Asheville has an Eco-steward certification. I love this! Agents who go through this 36-hour program are in a position to advise clients toward better, more sustainable and energy efficient homes. Perfect for me, because I sometimes think I’m a perpetual student – I love going to classes and learning. I need the structure (I’m a triple Pisces - need I say more?) and I appreciate the discipline.

When I took the Asheville Board of Realtors Orientation a short while back, I was thrilled with my choice of getting my real estate license when the instructor asked me to read aloud the Preamble to the Code of Ethics for the National Association of Realtors:

“Under all is the land. Upon its wise utilization and widely allocated ownership depend the survival and growth of free institutions and of our civilization. REALTORS¨ should recognize that the interests of the nation and its citizens require the highest and best use of the land and the widest distribution of land ownership. They require the creation of adequate housing, the building of functioning cities, the development of productive industries and farms, and the preservation of a healthful environment.”

I learned from my grandparents – small farmers in the southeast – that when you own your land (whether we can really “own” land is another blog for another day), you are your own person. You can feed yourself and shelter yourself. You can not only survive but live a more healthy, both physically and spiritually, in world of nature and earth.

The land was here before us, and will be here long afterward. We must respect it and protect it. And return, we are bountifully rewarded. If not – well, we reap what we sow.

May the New Year bring us all love, peace, respect, and joy.

Small Adventures in Real Estate

gwen — Tue, 22 May 2007 02:38:00 +0000

I decided, although I’m not sure why, to come down to Port City Java this morning. It’s a short ride – about 5 miles from where I live – but with long-range mountain views. Dripoleter is closer, but the guitarist was not there last week. Although not the only reason to go to Dripolater, the music did -hyphen- off a specific and special part of the week - the time to contemplate, to think, to observe other humans and life around me.

I recall the last time I drove here, I was struck by an unblemished blue sky with a bold, brash morning sun. Today, there is no blue to be found among the thick voluminous clouds, traveling with the strength of the wind. The ground looks spotty where some of the fuller clouds have decided to relieve themselves from their wet burdens.There is a fireplace to my right, a window to outside world on my left. The music is awful, screaming men and guitars. Fortunately it is turned down low, so I can almost ignore it. A few people are beginning to walk in and order coffee to go, but none stay. Other than the barristers, I have the place to myself.

On January 1st, I celebrated my first two years here in Asheville. I remember how much of an adventure it was. I guess my definition of adventure is not knowing what’s coming next. There was little I was certain off – where would I live, where would I work, who would be my friends, what would I learn. So many of those questions are answered now. So, I guess the period I am entering now is a time of consolidating and expanding. The first two years were buying a better car, buying a house, and buying furniture. I have added to my life what I believe will be a rich and endearing friendships. I have a routine now – I plan my social time not in hours but in months.

So now, I plan to financially plan. I’m also looking for the right real estate investment. I am also starting to finish out the second story of my house. It looks like this area is going to continue to grow. I heard from a realtor that housing grew 9% in Asheville this past year. I read in the paper that North Carolina is now the 10th most populous state, edging out New Jersey.

I hope that the local governments can guide the growth with sustainable practices. Certainly Asheville seems to be on track with that. There is only one republican on board, the rest being either Green or at least Democrats. I don’t go to the public meetings, but I do read the reports about them in both the Mountain Xpress (great coverage, by the way) and the Asheville Citizen Times. The Buncombe County Commission has decided to go ahead and enact zoning laws without a referendum. I’m all for zoning and control over developers who bulldoze mountaintops and slopes to build upscale homes for wealthy retirees and 2nd homeowners.

There are a few celebrities among us, most notably, Andie McDowell.So, as the mountains get dusted with homes, we are also losing farmland at an astonishing rate each year. My own real estate ambitions remain fluid. I started with finishing out a small apartment for myself upstairs and buy land in the country – as far away as Mars Hill. Then a friend expressed interest in buy 15 acres or more, and splitting off part for a second home and keeping the rest undeveloped. Then I became aware that the .8 acres with a very small, dilapidated house was with a developer, but the deal was not closing. Mary and I made a back up offer. With its gentle south sloping surface, it offers a long-range view toward the Biltmore property. We dreamed of a gazebo and lots of veggies growing on it. A little nervous about the work and the level of my own skills, I called on Bountiful Cities Project. Darcel Eddins, one of the founders, came out and looked at the house, and wandered the land. Her dreams for the space were even more ambitious than mine. She could see the house being restored using green materials and volunteers. She could see a bedroom for an exchange student intern, a canning kitchen and a stall for the 2 goats city regulations allow. But after much stalling and aggravation, it became clear that the developer would eventually get what he wanted.

I begin to look at other land and found one 12 minutes from downtown that I feel in love with it. The heading of the small classified ad said “Gardeners Paradise.” And for the first time in my experience, the realtor wrote an actual accounting of the space. It was a farm-style home built 20 ago on 2 acres bordered on two sides by Lee’s Creek. As a bonus, the land was sitting inside a small cove with a few other homes, with fruit trees and bushes with a few years of growth on them and a greenhouse. The house was slightly roomier than my present living space. It would need some work – like a new heat pump and roof – but it was priced low enough that the repairs would not stop me.

Unfortunately, just as I was ready to make an offer, someone else beat me to it: two men, one who works for one of the local green grocers. Their dream is to grow and sell organic vegetables to the local stores and restaurants. I am still, after a couple of weeks, feeling the disappointment of missing out on this particular house and land.So, back to the drawing board. Literally. I’ve been drawing the plans for the upstairs. I know that renovations are difficult – workers coming and going, disruptions in my plans and life, and can be expensive.

But at this point, it feels like an adventure. The point before I really know what is going to happen next. The place I sometimes think I most like to be.

Following My Lead

gwen — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 01:15:00 +0000

Asheville. Lot’s of cool stuff happening in this little progressive, mountain town.

The first signs of spring are all around. The surest is the Organic Growers School held every year at the Blue Mountain Appalachian Community College in Flat Rock. I felt the excitement surging through my bloodstream as I worked my way through the crowds and classes of farmers, gardeners and wanna-bes (like me) yesterday. This is where I strike up conversations with strangers as I sip coffee at breaks or while waiting on my friend Mary, who attended for the second time with me. I met a guy who has 20 acres near Boone and primarily produces berries for sale. I got several good tips from him for my 3 blueberry bushes. A woman told me about how she and her husband bought their farm over 12 years ago while still living in Charlotte. A couple of years ago she had enough of the city life and moved there full time while her husband drives up on weekends from his job. She said her grandchildren beg for turns to come stay weeks at a time. She calls her place the anti-Disney – no TV, gameboys, and cell phones, but rather plenty of live animals and fun chores they love to do. When actually given a choice from an over saturated media/consumer lifestyle, even children instinctively know that something truly important is missing from their lives and reach for it when given the opportunity.

I’ve noticed recently that the leadership aspect of myself has been coming to the fore. I’ve never considered myself much of a leader before, usually preferring to follow someone else’s vision when it matched my own.

As you know, I moved here from NYC so that I could be closer to the land. I bought my house and small lot and have worked at enriching my soil, growing veggies, fruit trees and shrubs. I had no concerns about living in close proximity to my neighbors in West Asheville because after NYC and apartment living, it seemed quite spacious. But I’ve known from the beginning that it wouldn’t be enough. I want land. And there are many women in Asheville who want the same thing. In fact, Mary and I noted that well over half the attendees at the Organic Growers School were women. One class I took – How to obtain Credit for your farm – all but one of the self-identified “want to farm” people were women.

A couple of weeks ago I invited two women I know who are interested in owning and farming land to dinner. They did not know each other. I had a good feeling about them both – or as we might say here is Asheville, they both had good energy for me. They instantly bonded, having Cleveland, Ohio as their connection. Our purpose: to discuss the possibility of creating an intentional community together. We plan, over the summer, to invite another 3 or 4 women who share our vision to join us and then start searching for land within 30 minutes of Asheville. Our goal is to buy it within two years. Over the next several months we plan on getting together for projects and activities so that we become more acquainted and comfortable with each other. We hope to buy about 30+ acres so that we can have about 5 acres each and some shared land – preferably with a stream, creek and/or pond with it. I’m very excited to have partners who share my vision and are willing to work together to make it happen.

My first memory about community living came to me as a senior in high school when I wrote a paper about Communal Living (I still have it too – I didn’t make a very good grade). I wish I could remember why I chose the topic. Was it because the teacher gave us a list to choose from or did I pull that out somewhere from the headlines? It was after all 1971 and I would have been influenced by the decade of the 60’s. Perhaps it stems from some deep psychotically need to be associated with counter culture of some type. I have a love/hate relationship with mainstream: I want to “fit” in, but I often at conflict of what mainstream represents – which is usually centered around money, what you have and don’t have. Or perhaps I instinctively knew early in life that I want to live a more connected life with others – in community, with shared vision.

Recently, I joined the board of the Bountiful Cities Project. It’s a non profit centered around the idea of creating community spaces on urban land, growing food in abundance and fostering a learning environment for social justice and sustainability. Our website is http://www.bountifulcitiesproject.org and if you want some recent pr about us, I refer you to
http://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=200770225012.
I wrote the press release and was pleased that A C-T printed verbatim. I’ve written a lot of pr before, some while I was in New York City, and seen my words printed, but this one brought more joy to me than the business writing that I have done over the years. It is the idea of community and urban gardens that I am enthusiastic about. I think this group is poised for some tremendous growth and I’m happy to offer my years of experience in advertising, marketing, and pr to a nonprofit that I can feel passionate about.

Another sign of my leadership side taking hold is that I have been trying to organize our neighborhood to deal with the beautiful piece of land in our neighborhood, and at the end of my backyard. Mary and I tried to purchase it late last year but were unsuccessful. I held a meeting at my house and invited the City of Asheville Neighborhood Coordinator to speak to us. We invited the potential buyer of the land to come to, but he declined. The coordinator offered some alternatives of how what we could do, but so far, it seems as if it’s too much work for them. I’m sure if I wanted to do all the work, they would support it. I’m in the process of trying to organize another meeting specifically with the potential buyer. I’m not sure how much I want to proceed if all my neighbors want is for me to do the work.

According to Diana Leafe Christian, author of “Creating a Life Together: Practical Tools to Grow Ecovilages and Intentional Communities,” a leader must certainly have vision – without which nothing will happen. Now that I’ve been in Asheville two years, I am trying to fine-tune the lens on my vision glasses. It is becoming clearer to me and I am taking the steps in the right directions. As with all our hopes, plans, and intentions, I believe we must also be adaptable because life is as fluid as the river and takes unexpected twist and turns. As Heraclites first notes around 500 BCE “You cannot step twice into the same river, for other waters are continually flowing in.” And as Darwin REALLY said:
“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.” One thing I do know about myself – I am responsive to change. I am a Pisces – as mutable and changeable as the water the fish swim in.

Small Adventures in Asheville Real Estate

gwen — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 14:46:00 +0000

I decided, although I’m not sure why, to come down to Port City Java this morning. It’s a short ride – about 5 miles from where I live – but with long-range mountain views. Dripoleter is closer, but the guitarist was not there last week. Although not the only reason to go to Dripolater, the music did -hyphen- off a specific and special part of the week - the time to contemplate, to think, to observe other humans and life around me.

I recall the last time I drove here, I was struck by an unblemished blue sky with a bold, brash morning sun. Today, there is no blue to be found among the thick voluminous clouds, traveling with the strength of the wind. The ground looks spotty where some of the fuller clouds have decided to relieve themselves from their wet burdens.

There is a fireplace to my right, a window to outside world on my left. The music is awful, screaming men and guitars. Fortunately it is turned down low, so I can almost ignore it. A few people are beginning to walk in and order coffee to go, but none stay. Other than the barristers, I have the place to myself.

On January 1st, I celebrated my first two years here in Asheville. I remember how much of an adventure it was. I guess my definition of adventure is not knowing what’s coming next. There was little I was certain off – where would I live, where would I work, who would be my friends, what would I learn. So many of those questions are answered now. So, I guess the period I am entering now is a time of consolidating and expanding. The first two years were buying a better car, buying a house, and buying furniture. I have added to my life what I believe will be a rich and endearing friendships. I have a routine now – I plan my social time not in hours but in months.

So now, I plan to financially plan. I’m also looking for the right real estate investment. I am also starting to finish out the second story of my house. It looks like this area is going to continue to grow. I heard from a realtor that housing grew 9% in Asheville this past year. I read in the paper that North Carolina is now the 10th most populous state, edging out New Jersey. I hope that the local governments can guide the growth with sustainable practices. Certainly Asheville seems to be on track with that. There is only one republican on board, the rest being either Green or at least Democrats. I don’t go to the public meetings, but I do read the reports about them in both the Mountain Xpress (great coverage, by the way) and the Asheville Citizen Times. The Buncombe County Commission has decided to go ahead and enact zoning laws without a referendum. I’m all for zoning and control over developers who bulldoze mountaintops and slopes to build upscale homes for wealthy retirees and 2nd homeowners. There are a few celebrities among us, most notably, Andie McDowell.

So, as the mountains get dusted with homes, we are also losing farmland at an astonishing rate each year. My own real estate ambitions remain fluid. I started with finishing out a small apartment for myself upstairs and buy land in the country – as far away as Mars Hill. Then a friend expressed interest in buy 15 acres or more, and splitting off part for a second home and keeping the rest undeveloped. Then I became aware that the .8 acres with a very small, dilapidated house was with a developer, but the deal was not closing. Mary and I made a back up offer. With its gentle south sloping surface, it offers a long-range view toward the Biltmore property. We dreamed of a gazebo and lots of veggies growing on it. A little nervous about the work and the level of my own skills, I called on Bountiful Cities Project. Darcel Eddins, one of the founders, came out and looked at the house, and wandered the land. Her dreams for the space were even more ambitious than mine. She could see the house being restored using green materials and volunteers. She could see a bedroom for an exchange student intern, a canning kitchen and a stall for the 2 goats city regulations allow. But after much stalling and aggravation, it became clear that the developer would eventually get what he wanted.

I begin to look at other land and found one 12 minutes from downtown that I feel in love with it. The heading of the small classified ad said “Gardeners Paradise.” And for the first time in my experience, the realtor wrote an actual accounting of the space. It was a farm-style home built 20 ago on 2 acres bordered on two sides by Lee’s Creek. As a bonus, the land was sitting inside a small cove with a few other homes, with fruit trees and bushes with a few years of growth on them and a greenhouse. The house was slightly roomier than my present living space. It would need some work – like a new heat pump and roof – but it was priced low enough that the repairs would not stop me.

Unfortunately, just as I was ready to make an offer, someone else beat me to it: two men, one who works for one of the local green grocers. Their dream is to grow and sell organic vegetables to the local stores and restaurants. I am still, after a couple of weeks, feeling the disappointment of missing out on this particular house and land.

So, back to the drawing board. Literally. I’ve been drawing the plans for the upstairs. I know that renovations are difficult – workers coming and going, disruptions in my plans and life, and can be expensive. But at this point, it feels like an adventure. The point before I really know what is going to happen next. The place I sometimes think I most like to be.

Follow My Lead

gwen — Fri, 12 Jan 2007 03:54:00 +0000

Asheville. Lot’s of cool stuff happening in this little progressive, mountain town.The first signs of spring are all around. The surest is the Organic Growers School held every year at the Blue Mountain Appalachian Community College in Flat Rock. I felt the excitement surging through my bloodstream as I worked my way through the crowds and classes of farmers, gardeners and wanna-bes (like me) yesterday. This is where I strike up conversations with strangers as I sip coffee at breaks or while waiting on my friend Mary, who attended for the second time with me. I met a guy who has 20 acres near Boone and primarily produces berries for sale. I got several good tips from him for my 3 blueberry bushes. A woman told me about how she and her husband bought their farm over 12 years ago while still living in Charlotte. A couple of years ago she had enough of the city life and moved there full time while her husband drives up on weekends from his job. She said her grandchildren beg for turns to come stay weeks at a time. She calls her place the anti-Disney – no TV, gameboys, and cell phones, but rather plenty of live animals and fun chores they love to do. When actually given a choice from an over saturated media/consumer lifestyle, even children instinctively know that something truly important is missing from their lives and reach for it when given the opportunity.I’ve noticed recently that the leadership aspect of myself has been coming to the fore. I’ve never considered myself much of a leader before, usually preferring to follow someone else’s vision when it matched my own.As you know, I moved here from NYC so that I could be closer to the land. I bought my house and small lot and have worked at enriching my soil, growing veggies, fruit trees and shrubs. I had no concerns about living in close proximity to my neighbors in West Asheville because after NYC and apartment living, it seemed quite spacious. But I’ve known from the beginning that it wouldn’t be enough. I want land. And there are many women in Asheville who want the same thing. In fact, Mary and I noted that well over half the attendees at the Organic Growers School were women. One class I took – How to obtain Credit for your farm – all but one of the self-identified “want to farm” people were women.A couple of weeks ago I invited two women I know who are interested in owning and farming land to dinner. They did not know each other. I had a good feeling about them both – or as we might say here is Asheville, they both had good energy for me. They instantly bonded, having Cleveland, Ohio as their connection. Our purpose: to discuss the possibility of creating an intentional community together. We plan, over the summer, to invite another 3 or 4 women who share our vision to join us and then start searching for land within 30 minutes of Asheville. Our goal is to buy it within two years. Over the next several months we plan on getting together for projects and activities so that we become more acquainted and comfortable with each other. We hope to buy about 30+ acres so that we can have about 5 acres each and some shared land – preferably with a stream, creek and/or pond with it. I’m very excited to have partners who share my vision and are willing to work together to make it happen.My first memory about community living came to me as a senior in high school when I wrote a paper about Communal Living (I still have it too – I didn’t make a very good grade). I wish I could remember why I chose the topic. Was it because the teacher gave us a list to choose from or did I pull that out somewhere from the headlines? It was after all 1971 and I would have been influenced by the decade of the 60’s. Perhaps it stems from some deep psychotically need to be associated with counter culture of some type. I have a love/hate relationship with mainstream: I want to “fit” in, but I often at conflict of what mainstream represents – which is usually centered around money, what you have and don’t have. Or perhaps I instinctively knew early in life that I want to live a more connected life with others – in community, with shared vision.Recently, I joined the board of the Bountiful Cities Project. It’s a non profit centered around the idea of creating community spaces on urban land, growing food in abundance and fostering a learning environment for social justice and sustainability. Our website is http://www.bountifulcitiesproject.org and if you want some recent pr about us, I refer you tohttp://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=200770225012.I wrote the press release and was pleased that A C-T printed verbatim. I’ve written a lot of pr before, some while I was in New York City, and seen my words printed, but this one brought more joy to me than the business writing that I have done over the years. It is the idea of community and urban gardens that I am enthusiastic about. I think this group is poised for some tremendous growth and I’m happy to offer my years of experience in advertising, marketing, and pr to a nonprofit that I can feel passionate about.Another sign of my leadership side taking hold is that I have been trying to organize our neighborhood to deal with the beautiful piece of land in our neighborhood, and at the end of my backyard. Mary and I tried to purchase it late last year but were unsuccessful. I held a meeting at my house and invited the City of Asheville Neighborhood Coordinator to speak to us. We invited the potential buyer of the land to come to, but he declined. The coordinator offered some alternatives of how what we could do, but so far, it seems as if it’s too much work for them. I’m sure if I wanted to do all the work, they would support it. I’m in the process of trying to organize another meeting specifically with the potential buyer. I’m not sure how much I want to proceed if all my neighbors want is for me to do the work.According to Diana Leafe Christian, author of “Creating a Life Together: Practical Tools to Grow Ecovilages and Intentional Communities,” a leader must certainly have vision – without which nothing will happen. Now that I’ve been in Asheville two years, I am trying to fine-tune the lens on my vision glasses. It is becoming clearer to me and I am taking the steps in the right directions. As with all our hopes, plans, and intentions, I believe we must also be adaptable because life is as fluid as the river and takes unexpected twist and turns. As Heraclites first notes around 500 BCE “You cannot step twice into the same river, for other waters are continually flowing in.” And as Darwin REALLY said:“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.” One thing I do know about myself – I am responsive to change. I am a Pisces – as mutable and changeable as the water the fish swim in.

Sax in the City

gwen — Tue, 19 Sep 2006 13:33:00 +0000

Sunday morning. There’s a fog shrouding the trees and hillsides beyond the clarity of my small yard, and that of my 96-year-old neighbor’s adjoining yard. There is an underlying rhythm in the subtle background of crickets. It is punctuated with soft knock of a woodpecker against a tree, the dropping of acorns onto my deck, and dogs barking in the distance. Occasionally, there is a muted high-pitched chirpings of a bird – the soprano solo interspersed.

I have a gentle fire going in my chimnea, hot coffee in my tall cup and the New York Times nearby. What could be more special than a quiet West Asheville morning like this?

I’ve been here for 20 months now. I don’t sit out on my deck as much as I did last year. The newness has worn off, and besides, there is so much more to do now. I know more people so there are more social engagements. I’ve become more involved with caring for and landscaping my yard. Gardening and harvesting projects create a long “to do” list on a yellow legal pad.

Lately, I’ve been remembering myself in NYC. As I continue to read the NYTimes, I realize that Manhattan is changing. New buildings are going up, old one coming down. Progress seems to be happening, albeit slowly, around Ground Zero. I continue to receive email newletters from Cranes Business; along with several social groups I belonged to there.

I miss it.

I use to get up in the mornings, pick up coffee from the Amish Market and go to the park on 48th Street. Although on weekdays I was often the only one there, I was surrounding by the street noise – garbage trucks, fire trucks, and a constant assortment of car horns. Most of the time I was able to block out the noise and spend time writing, thinking and sometimes even meditating among the flowers and trees in the small, but well kept park.

I have many wonderful memories from my 11 years in NYC, but probably the most magical one happened one fall evening as I sat in front of my computer in my apartment on the second floor. As usual in warm or temperate weather, my window was fully open. I heard a saxophone playing nearby. Not a particularly unusual sound as there was a musicians practice space two buildings down. Then, I heard a second, lower saxophone playing in harmony with the first. Very nice, I thought. When a third, even lower sax joined in, I had to know what was going on. I stuck my head out the window and looked toward the musicians building. On the sidewalk in front was one player. I decided to crawl out on my fire escape. I didn’t see any co-conspirator musicians around him, so I started looking around for the others. At that moment, a fourth, higher pitched sax joined the other three. I spotted all three others within minutes – each from a different building, out on their fire escapes.

The music continued for another 20 minutes or so. Forty-seventh Street isn’t the same as busy 9th Avenue that runs north and south. It is mostly residential and one way, with cars parked on both sides of the street. But business as usual continued that evening: people walking under the streetlights, cars and bicycles jostling for their space and smokers hanging out in front of doorways. I sat there, aware, but not really feeling the cold metal of the fire escape, wondering how this could possibly be happening. Four beautiful instruments, in total harmony, a small symphony of music, on the really not-so-mean streets of Manhattan. Did the musicians plan this? Or was it just happenstance?

I’ll never know. I just know that on one particular warm, clear September evening, in the relative quietness of my Manhattan apartment, magic happened. As the morning sun burns off the morning fog over the trees around me in West Asheville, I now remember that yellow legal pad “to do” list.

CAN It Be Done

gwen — Fri, 18 Aug 2006 01:07:00 +0000

Last weekend I visited my parents in Chattanooga. They are both 77 (or 78?). My mother’s health is very poor from bypass surgery, back surgery, and long time grief, among other ailments. But my father, although he recently finished treatment for prostate cancer, is still working around the house a couple of hours most mornings. I know they are aging, and I know there is much I need to know from them before it’s too late.

My mother gave me her sewing machine. She bought her Kenmore 1813 in the 60’s and it still works perfectly. As a teenager, I was always considered one of the best dressed in school. She had an excellent sense of clothing design. She would take me to Miller’s Department store in Chattanooga for ideas and then buy and adapt patterns to suit her. Of course, as a child, I didn’t appreciate that. I would rather be in my shorts or jeans.

It gave me pleasure to work alongside of her on it for a while. We’ve always had our mother/daughter issues and it’s never been easy to work side by side on anything. She showed me how to thread bobbin and we made a few runs on scrap clothes. I’ll never be the seamstress my mother was, but if I could cover a few cushions here and there, and use it for projects, I’ll be happy. But most of all, the sewing machine represents a history, of our lives together – sometimes difficult, but never without love. I love having items in my home that have been passed down from my parents, and grandparents – especially my grandmothers.

I also brought home my Granny Croft’s churn, and my Granny Watson’s canner. I’ll probably never make butter (but who knows!) but I did decide to “put up” some of my cucumbers yesterday. I made 10 pints of bread and butter pickles. I sampled some of the mix before it went into the jars, and they are going to be delicious!

It’s easy to see why people stopped canning. It’s time consuming and a lot of work. Easier to go to the store and buy a jar of pickles. However, I don’t have any connection to those pickles, and although it may give my body some of the nutrients I need, they hardly enrich my soul. The jar of pickles I will eat this winter will be from cucumbers seeds I planted and lovingly watered and weeded. It is food that I grew, with out chemicals of any sort. It is food that I picked, washed, peeled, mixed, boiled and then packed into jars. And, at the end, listened for that “pop” that tells me that the jar has sealed.

Best of all, I did it with my granny’s canner. She fed and nourished her family for most of her adult live by growing and canning her own food. I’m sure she’s pleased.

An August Memory

gwen — Fri, 28 Jul 2006 01:57:00 +0000

I bought a watermelon at the farmers market this past weekend. I finally got around to cutting it open this evening. As I sliced through the thick green skin, the bright red juiciness inside flooded me with memories. I’m running next door with my brother, with a dollar in hand, entrusted to us by our grandpa. We are headed toward the big farm house with the sign tacked onto one of the big shade tress in front: Watermelons for Sale: 2 for $1. My Granny and Grandpa’s neighbor grew them in his vast fields. My grandparents also had a few watermelons in their garden, but nothing like their neighbor. He was a real farmer and had a field of them.

We cradled our icy burdens in our bare, sun soaked arms and walked back to our grandparents, carefully so as not to drop our big prizes. Up on the wooden table in yard, granny would take a huge knife and skillfully slice it so that the two pieces fell away from the other. We would then start calling our pieces: That one is mine! No, it’s mine!
Granny always assured us that we would have a piece but that wasn’t what this was about. It was being the first to sink our teeth into a cold, juicy slice of watermelon.

We didn’t use forks or knives like the grownups. We put our faces into it and wiped the dampness off our faces with the back of our arms. My mother would call us heathens. I always thought it was a compliment.

My older sister and I would debate. She liked the rime; I didn’t. She would extol the merits of the pulpiness. I would turn my nose up and grimace. I told her she was crazy. And she told me I was a heathen. I loved being a heathen.

So, I finish slicing my watermelon, putting some in a dish to eat while I’m typing on the computer. Of course, I use a spoon, like a grown up. The rest goes into a plastic container. As I close the refrigerator door, the memory goes out with the light.

Grab a rake and live!

gwen — Mon, 08 May 2006 02:21:00 +0000

I’m late. It’s raining. I remember that forgot something and turn around and start all over. My neck is still hurting, and I am conscious of the burn on my back from working outdoors yesterday without proper protection. It is Sunday morning, and I am looking forward to a quiet morning with my coffee, my paper and my guitarist, Michael Farr.

The parking lot is full. This the first time I’ve not been able to get parking. I drive around. If I can’t find a spot, I will check back at the lot one more time, and if something isn’t open, I’ll go to the Port City Java. My excellent Asheville parking karma provides a spot right beside the building. A man opens the door for me and I hear Michael playing and every muscle in my body soaks in the harmony. My muscles go limp, in unison. And now, in an even more blessed moment, is my favorite spot, waiting on me.

Today, the Dripolater is full of young and hip people. Many look as if they just finished a Banana Republic shoot. I call it Disheveled Chic. One woman sits at the bar alone reading a book. An older man and younger woman sit at a table looking together at a computer screen.

My recent musings involve a comparison of Asheville to NYC. As I was giving my parking karma yet another opportunity yesterday, I noticed that Asheville has a version of Theatre District and Restaurant Row. As I was driving down Biltmore, thinking there was no way I’d get parking since I had been trying to get across town for 15 to 20 minutes in slow traffic. My goal was to pick up tickets at the Diana Wortham Theater at the Pack Center, which was on the left of me, and I notice on my right: The Bistro, Café on the Square, Sushi/Thai, Temptations and The New French Bar. So there you are - the Theatre District and Restaurant Row! Ok, its a stretch. But that's an example of some of my musings.

We’ve been getting a fair amount of rain lately, considering it has been so dry. As a gardener (wow! That’s the first time I’ve called myself that) I’m happy. I put in, with Mary’s help, three blueberry bushes and two hyssops yesterday. I went to the Herb Festival at the Farmers Market earlier in the day and picked up a few more plants to add to my “Home for Wayward Plants.” Progress is being made. I often sit on my front porch, in one of my two weathered rockers from the Screen Door, and think about how much there is to do. I can envision my strawberry plot (I think its too late to plant this year) my grape vines growing on the fence, and luscious plants in the mulched areas. I often sit and count my blessings that I didn’t buy a bigger house with a bigger yard.

The only thing wrong with this paradise, many people would think, is that it’s in an old neighborhood where many of the houses are not “manicured,” to say the least. And the houses are very close to each other. I have lots of room in front, back and left of me, but not much between my next-door neighbor on the right of me. Both our homes are new construction. I must have known, at a subconscious level, that I wanted and needed raw land. The benefits from starting with raw, exposed land, is to be there before birth. My job is to facilitate nature, to be a midwife, a nursemaid, a partner. Perhaps in some ways, I am a father. I plant the seeds; Mother Earth nurtures the growth. Whatever I am, I am in unison with her. We work and live in balance. At least, in my head.

Part of my thesis for my Masters in Conscious Evolution Final Project is that our lives are fragmented and separate from our very source of life sustaining support. Much of our living is unconscious, a total lack of awareness of any outside our immediate needs and desire. We consume and are pacified with the toy of the moment.

I now run my fingers through the moist soil. I am getting to know Mother’s Nature smell, her textures, her desires. I am beginning to see red worms, butterflies and bees. I feel life springing all around me.

I also see my neighbor, who lives on the left of me, in the back yard with a rake. Mary noticed her first. I walked around and say hello. She tells us that today is her 96th birthday. I ask her if she did anything special. She said, “Oh Lordy, I’ve had so much company.” She’s dressed nicely, and fusses with her hair. She complains about how hard it is to find men who will work in the yard for her. She’s an inspiration – a reminder of something I heard long ago: I’d rather wear out than rust out. In her case, she has done neither. Hope I pick up some good old lady vibes by living next to her.

Which brings me to one final thought and saying that I want to pass along. An interesting southern, perhaps really red neck phrase I heard lately when referring to a shiftless, lazy character: He’s so lazy that he has no use for a double wide when a single wide will do.

That’s to all you couch potatoes, watching reruns and eating. Go outside, get your rake, and live to be a 100.

Cafe Complication Concluded

gwen — Sat, 08 Apr 2006 02:56:00 +0000

Happy Day! I’ve found my Bean Street replacement – guitarist and all!

Last Friday night, my book club meet for a Piscean birthday celebration. Out of 5 women in the group, 3 of us are born under the sign of the Fish. We gathered at the Laughing Seed, my favorite restaurant in Asheville – all vegetarian and vegan dishes. After our wine and dinner, the conversation was still flowing so we took it to new place (old building, new business) called the Dripolator. While we sipped our exotic teas, I noticed a small, well-done, handout announcing that Michael Farr would begin playing on Sunday mornings. So here I am.

It’s a very open space with wood floors, plenty of sitting area and interesting. Tables are around, with several groupings of sofas and easy chairs. As I write, Michael, from the defunct Bean Street, plays, soothing and enriching my sacred Sunday morning.

It’s not too crowded today, but I think that will change before too long. Word will soon get out in this small town and then I won’t be able to get the comfortable sofa in the corner with a great view of the scene in front: a single woman at the bar; a single man reading the paper at a table; couples sitting on the platform booths (Asian style).

A family comes in. My first impression is that they are tourist. Four adults with a three-week old baby, a two-year, and a young boy around 9 or 10. Turns out it’s one couple live here, the other’s visiting because of the new family member. As anyone who has been reading my blog for a while, you know I love eavesdropping on other people’s lives.

Feels like I’m in my own living room, but I have the convenience of some one serving me coffee, listening to a live performance, with interesting people around.

I’m going to start a coffee house rating system., using a scale of one to ten on items such as space, quality of coffee, and interesting people. I would give the Dripolater a very high score. And I think it will get even better as more locals find out about it and start to drop by.

Life in the Little City

gwen — Tue, 21 Mar 2006 21:57:00 +0000

I had to schedule this time to write. I suspect real writers schedule it daily, rather than once every few months. Well, I am a triple Pisces, read: fluid. So much to do, so little time. It’s enough to make a girl believe in reincarnation…we need more than one lifetime to do it.

Speaking of mortality, I had my fifty fuckin’ third (and that says everything about how I feel about b’days) on Wednesday, the Ides of March. I’m pleased so many people remembered me and either called or wrote kind words.

I guess I’ve found a substitute for the Bean Street (I still mourn for those special mornings). I’ve driven out of the city toward Candler on Smokey Park Highway. It’s the Port City Java. The good thing is that as I drive, I am surrounded by the mountains all around. In the morning haze the subtle colors of blues and greens stir something deep inside. I’m never sure what it is: maybe a reminder of the early years of my life driving in East Tennessee to visit my grandparents in a similar landscape.

Even though there is still a nip in the air, I sense a whiff of spring. Inside, the barista’s enjoy their job, offering me a sample of “evil” chocolate cake. I figure since its Sunday morning in the south, this is as good time as ever to be evil. Fortunately, there are a few other heathens sitting around reading the paper or tapping on their computers while early instrumental jazz plays in the background.

I wonder if anyone has ever toured the country, experiencing and writing about “coffee culture?” If so, let me know. I’d like to read the book. If not, maybe I’ll do it someday. Add that to my list of things I’d like to do. Hey, I could combine that with my desire to RV travel around the US.

Meanwhile, back at the farm. Progress is slowly happening, especially in my lower 40 – the area closest to my house. Beds are ready, as is a small patio from the rounds of two mature trees I had to take down. I’m ready to plant some greenery. I plan on having some colorful herbs like lavendar and sage around the patio. I need to put in a few foundation shrubs and the landscapers (the Dirty Hoe) have suggested Carolina Allspice. I also plan on have another small bed of lettuce, chives, and edible flowers in the front too.

Today, Mary is coming over to help me build raised beds for the back yard using 2x6x8, which we had cut for 3x5 beds. I am planning 6 beds this year. I’ve made a list of veggies that I regularly eat and am trying to time it so that I can have a “meal” from my harvest – veggies for salads, and/or veggies for stir fry of steaming. I did put in some garlic bulbs last fall and those are coming up right on schedule.

I had high hopes of raising some of my own seedlings. I haven’t had much luck; in fact I think all of them have died in the last few days. I think the reason is because I haven’t been consistent in where they stay or in how much heat they get. Think I need to do more research.

I also have one very difficult problem to solve. I have a groundhog that lives in my 95-year-old neighbor’s back yard. It is filled with kudzu because, obviously, she doesn’t do yard work any more. He took all my tot choy and bok choy last fall. I’ve done a ton of research on the Internet and didn’t find any good solution to the problem. There seem to be all kinds of products to keep dogs, rabbits, and the like out of your garden. But, for groundhogs – not really.

I attended the Organic Growers School last week with one real goal in mind – to learn how to persuade Mr. G to not eat my garden. The local agricultural extension office was presenting on beginning gardening. During the question/answer period and her answer was “shoot him.” Of course, I told her that was out of the question. Someone in the back of the room suggested a trap that I could buy at Lowe’s and that is what I am doing. I really wish there were some way to reason with him – I’d be willing to share my garden. But he’s very greedy and eats everything down to a nub in the ground. So today, I have to set the trap and then find him a new home in the country. I just hope he doesn’t have a wife and kids.

On a different subject, I’d like to quickly answer a few questions from anonymous posting from my last blog: yes I am happy here. The weather is mild – didn’t stay very cold for very long at all this winter. Did get snow, but it only last a day or so at most. There is a influx of retiree’s moving here, so the health care fields seems to be a good place to find work. I would think your husband would find a job easily. I think that a legal secretary would also. Seem to be lots of lawyers everywhere nowadays. The air is mostly clear, the mountains are beautiful and there are lots of non-traditional as well as southern tradition spiritual practices. Someone told me that there were about 23 sanghas in the area, as well as a multitude of churches and synagogues. Lots of world-class entertainment passes through Asheville. It is a university town and the local community college offers a lot in way of continuing classes. There is even the Blue Ridge Mountain Schoolhouse that features class on shamanism and the like. It’s big on mountain bluegrass – Asheville has a distinct culture to explore – from the older Appalachian natives, to the new agers, back to the land types, and aging hippies. You rarely see a suit in Asheville. If you are used to an urban lifestyle, choose to live close to town. It’s got a lively downtown in the spring summer and fall, seven nights a week. If you live further out, you are less likely to take advantage of it. And I think that is one of the most compelling reasons to live here. A lively small city surrounded by the big great outdoors. You are already out use to living in the outskirts, then you’ll appreciate the surrounding beauty. There is so much more I can say about Asheville – it’s progressive, even if there is a serious Christian radical right willing to hold a rally downtown against gay marriage. At the same time, the local newspaper prints announcements of same gender unions; a local ski resort fired two women who published their announcement. There was an opposing rally to the Radical Right by local women’s groups. And there are regular Peace Marches and anti Bush gatherings.

Personally, I can’t find anything I don’t like about Asheville. It’s that I just sometimes miss my old life in the Big Apple.

A Voice, so to speak

gwen — Mon, 16 Jan 2006 15:09:00 +0000

Writing on Sunday mornings – or any morning - has become a luxury. I’m beginning to think that perhaps some of my friends, especially those that have known me for many years may be right. Perhaps I am a Type A personality. Right now, I am overwhelmed with work and projects. But it’s because when someone presents something to me, I can immediately see how (a) I can solve their problem, (b) know that I want the experience and (c) appreciate the monetary value it might bring.

In my heart, I know that I’m a lazy slug. There’s nothing I rather do than lie in bed late in the mornings, or just veg out with a good book or TV program. I just have trouble summoning up the word “no.” I imagine many of you have the same issues. All our lives seem to be ratcheted up a few notches. I am grateful that when I first came to Asheville, when I didn’t know but a couple of people, I had time to sit in Beanstreet and observe life in these parts. I am also grateful, as spring and summer came along, that I have a deck where I could sit and watch the sun rise over the mountaintop that I can see over my neighbor’s roofs. I’ve had many wonderful mornings listening to the sound of the birds and other little critters that are remarkably different than the sound of garbage trucks and taxi horns that I have listened to for so many years.

My latest and most exciting experience that I am glad I couldn’t say “no” to is the opportunity to be an adjunct teacher at the local community college. I am teaching Desktop Publishing/Graphic Design using Adobe InDesign and Photoshop CS. Teaching is something that I have always wanted to do. In fact, when I first started to college at 18, my degree was to be in Art Education. In the third year, just before I dropped out, I remember getting up in front of a practice class and totally freezing up. That wasn’t the sole reason I left school, but it was just another contributing factor. Then later, when I returned to school in my early 30’s, I had to get up in front of one of my classes and give a report. This time I did worse than freeze – I said something totally inappropriate because I was so nervous. Then I froze. And no, Alice, I still will not tell you what it was. I will go to my grave sharing that knowledge with only the people who were in the class – and I have often prayed they have long, long forgotten. At that point, I definitely knew that I would never be able to do public speaking.

But I’ve always wanted to! Now, in my later years, I’ve discovered that so much of my life has been about my attempts to express myself. I finally did return to school and finish my undergraduate degree in Communications. And what is graphic design but a visual expression of text and images? And these silly blogs I write? Yes, yes, I broadcast to the world – I need to speak! I’ve dabbled in painting and music – all attempts to find a medium and my voice of expression

Last year, when I was in Australia working on my culminating project for my master’s degree in Conscious Evolution, I was once again presented with the opportunity to finally get a handle on this fear of public speaking. When I was asked to give the student address, I thought I could never do it. But, with the help of a dear friend, preparation and lots and lots and lots of practice,d I succeeded. The lesson I really came away from that experience, especially compared to my earlier attempts, is to be prepared. So that is what I have done with this class. I am self-taught in all my graphic software. InDesign is relatively new compared to the old Quark Express that I have used for the past 12 years. I have spent countless hours for the past several weeks working through the book and doing the exercises. I will have to do the same with Photoshop.

In the weeks preceding my first class, I woke up many nights in a sweat. In the dark mornings I questioned why had I agreed to teach this class. It’s so much work. And what if I freeze? What if I don’t know the answers to their questions? What if I’ve just been kidding myself for the past 30 years that I’m a good designer? It’s a good thing for me to actually look someone in the eye and make a commitment. The worse thing I think I can do is to let someone down. So, I continued to remind myself that I experienced these feelings before I did the Student Address, and that was successful, and this would be too.

The day of my first class, which is an evening class four hours long, I thought I would throw up. I won’t give you all the details of how my body was handling my fears. Suffice it to say, I was a bit of a wreck all day. I arrived early, so that I could get the feel of standing at the podium, walking around the classroom and generally acquaint myself with the computer equipment. Then, my first student walked in. Then another and another. I greeted them with a smile and made sure they were in the right class (their was a misprint on the schedules regarding room assignments). Something clicked. It all felt right. They were actually there to listen to me. They seemed eager to learn these programs – especially Photoshop. I scheduled the first part of the class to find out from them why they were taking the class, what they hoped to get from it, and how they thought they might use their new skills. I forgot all nervousness and realized that it wasn’t about me. It was about them, their needs and how I might be able to help them.

I know that I will have to do a lot of work in finding the right balance of how fast to cover the material, how best to present it and how to deal with the ones who are falling behind. I know I may run into discipline issues and we all may have problems with staying with the material -it is a long class and I’m sure the we will be tired at times. But right now, I feel joy in perhaps finally overcoming my fears of public speaking. I feel joy in knowing that I can actually help people develop skills that may help them find better jobs. I especially feel joy in finding that I can express myself in my teaching.

Cafe Quandary

gwen — Sun, 04 Dec 2005 15:19:00 +0000

Dear Friends,

I haven’t been writing my journal blogs as much as I would like. As you know, if you have read the October 10 post, my friend the Beanstreet closed its doors. Since then, I’ve adopted a Sunday morning exercise program. I joined a gym and have been using the relative uncrowdedness of the time to get in some aerobics and steam room time. I have gained at least another 5 pounds. How can this be? My motivation comes from Mary, who joined with me. Exercise is her religion and she is trying to convert me. I know in my heart she is right, but oh, it’s so hard to get off my lazy butt. She was otherwise occupied this morning, so I decided to play hooky and catch up on my journal.

The difficult part is where to write. I’m not exactly sure why, but I do better in coffee shops, around other people and where there is a window to the world. Perhaps it the desire to be connected to the larger world and write within that context that drives me to leave my house and fireplace on a Sunday morning.

It wasn’t hard at all in Manhattan. The walls of a small apartment are enough to drive one out on the street. I made friends there - one of which I am still in touch with.

My choices – as I know them right now – are Malaprops, the bookstore downtown. It has wireless connection and a café. It’s quite busy with tourist and locals. I’ve been there a few times before, but its better for a shorter time since the chairs aren’t comfortable for longer periods of time.

The obvious places are Starbucks and Port City Java, both chains. Port City is my trial choice this morning. It’s on the Smokey Mountain Parkway, hidden from tourist and other interesting peoples. It’s nearly empty, with only one other writer. But there is a gas fireplace, lots of easy chairs and sofas, and the woman behind the counter is engaging. The music is quiet big band instrumentals, which is easy to think with. Not a bad choice, but lacking in interesting people. I think I will need to find something more urban for that.

There is a small place in West Asheville. It used to be the Relaxed Reader and now has been bought by two women and called Out Spoken. It offers all amenities that I desire, but the drawback is that it doesn’t open until 10am. I am a morning writer, before the day gets complicated and full.

So, the quest goes on. I can’t believe that in my chosen city there isn’t the perfect place for my Sunday mornings – when Mary and the gym aren’t kicking my butt. I just haven’t found it yet. If you are from Asheville, recommendations are most welcome.

Caffeinatedly yours,
gwen

Everything Changes and Stays the Same

gwen — Sun, 04 Dec 2005 14:39:00 +0000

Written November 27, 2005

It’s been a month or so since I’ve written anything not work related. As I think about what has happened in that period of time, I’m amazed at how much has happened, yet how little changes. For instance, take my landscaping issues. As you probably know, I bought a newly constructed cottage near the town of Asheville. I felt like I was getting this wonderful “blank slate” to work with for my “growing” (pun totally intended) ambitions. I was unprepared for the projects required around the house and yard for proper drainage. I was unprepared for the time that it takes to see projects completed. I had two very large, mature Red Oak trees in my front yard that I had to take down. The trees shared a common trunk base growing away from each other in search of their sun. But one was rotting and larger limbs were falling with each strong storm. When one such limb dented my neighbor’s chain link fence, I decided it was time. All other projects that are underneath them and around them could not proceed until they were gone and cleared away.

I sadly watched the entire day it took the treecutters to bring them down and cut them up into more manageable sizes. A couple of neighbors worked a few days splitting it and hauling it away. But there is still plenty of wood, strewn about in mad disarray in my front yard. A little orderliness is coming out of it though. The Dirty Hoe’s have taken some of the better rounds and created a small patio that I will put flowers around next sprint. I will put a small bench or table and use it to sit and chat with my neighbors as they stroll by on the street in warm weather.

I went to a house warming party for a woman who moved to Asheville only six weeks before. In six weeks, she had renovated her house and gathered an interesting variety of furniture and created a home that she could feel happy in with her friends and family. I tend to compare myself to people like that. She shared that she devoted all her time to the effort. Perhaps if I weren’t working at all, I could devote more time and be further along. I waste too much energy in my head imaging the things that should be done, rather than enjoying the things that I have done.

I am working and truly enjoying the work I am doing here in Asheville. I am getting more opportunities to write press releases and strategic marketing plans. These tasks challenge me similarly to art. You start with just a little bit of information, and weave together a whole that is hopefully pleasing to read and informative. I’ve gotten positive feedback from my employer. I’ve never been comfortable with words. I think this comes from insecurities developed from growing up in a household where education wasn’t valued, although hard work is. So, I guess that explains my need to work hard at working with words.

I am also doing a lot of freelance for a couple of clients in New York. I will soon be releasing a new website for a florist in Southampton. In addition to these, I have also been offered a job teaching one night a week at the local community college next semester. This is probably the biggest challenge of all. I will be teaching two graphics software – Indesign and Photoshop – along with the basics of design to people who are in administrative positions and are asked to do company newsletters and flyers.

Teaching is something I always secretly craved to do, but with my fear of public speaking, had not pursued. However, after my experience last year of giving the student address at my commencement ceremony, I feel more ready to accept the challenge. The big lesson I learned from that experience is to be prepared. My intention is to work through all the exercises in the book before my class starts. I also think after the first week, it will become easier. In my heart, I think it is something I can do, if I can only get outside myself and do it.

Until next time,
gwen

Losing a friend

gwen — Tue, 11 Oct 2005 01:10:00 +0000

I must start off with some disappointing news. Beanstreet closed. I was there a couple of weeks ago and everything seemed fine. My friend, Mary, had joined me. We ate and drank our coffee while listening to the soft sounds of Michael Farr’s guitar in the background. She read my NYTimes while I wrote.

Allan Combs, the professor who taught my Conscious Evolution program, was in town this week and we made plans to get together. We agreed to have breakfast at Beanstreet. We arrived at the same time, and saw the sign on the door. As we were standing there, a little dismayed, a gentleman walking by saw us and explained that he had heard that they had to close because the couldn’t pay their gas bill. He said it was because more food was going out the “back door” than going out the front. Meaning, I suppose, that some of the owner’s employees where feeding their friends and he just lost too much money.

One of the things I really enjoyed about the Beanstreet was its open door policy. You could count on a full spectrum of folks there – tourist passing through (remember my stories of the tourist buying the art work on the wall? Or the writer who gave me her card?) local business people, the young creatives with all their interesting piercing, and yes, even those men who appear to be homeless and down on their luck. I met the women in my book club there. I love the variety of people that Beanstreat welcomed.

On the counter, near the cash register, was a yellowed letter to the editor that the owner had written many years ago, answering why he didn’t discriminate and allowed everyone into his restaurant. I wish I could get a copy of it. It was a well-written piece about how spirituality isn’t something you talk about – it’s what you do. He saw everyone as a child of the Universe – or God – or however you want to say it. He believed everyone should be treated and respected the same. He didn’t discriminate, and if you did, then perhaps Beanstreet was not the place for you.

To me, the Beanstreet was a little touch of NYC in Asheville. There, on the sidewalks, I could see, and engage if I chose, every imaginable type of person, from almost any place in the world. I will sorely miss the Beanstreet and the opportunity it gave me to enjoy peaceful quite Sunday mornings writing, while being inspired by its characters, its music, its energy, and its spiritual energy. Goodbye, dear friend.

I, however, have been spending some wonderfully pleasant early fall evenings wandering about the city on Friday night. Mary and I have been having dinner in town – either at the Laughing Seed or the Shangrila – and then having coffee at the café in Malaprops, the main bookstore in town which stays open late, as many stores do. We then walk to the Park and listen to the regular drumming circle there. As I understand it, it’s a regular Friday night experience. I don’t know how many years its been going on, but I think it starts as early in the season as it is warm enough, and goes until its too cold. It’s an open group where anyone can bring their drums and join in. There are Tablas, Bjembe, Nakari, congas, and even a good old set of drums that you would find in any rock band. The playing seems spontaneous. The beats change, rise and lowers by some unknown mystical leader. People gather around to listen and sway, while an inner group dances and moves to their interpretation of the undulation.

This last Friday night we needed to walk off the large meal we had. Some of our conversation had to do with astrology and psychic mediums. Mary had never been to one, and I was sharing my experience with one that I went to a couple of times in NYC. I was explaining to her that I would only go to one that someone had recommended to me, and if I heard of someone in Asheville, we would go. While we were chatting, we were stopped by two men from California, asking for directions. They had just moved into town a day earlier, being sent by their “spirit guides.” One was a psychic medium and of course we started talking. After about 30 minutes, we got his card and they got their directions and as much information as we could give them on where to go, what to see, and what to do in Asheville. We assured them – although they clearly didn’t need it – that they had made a great choice.

Yes, as someone in Newburyport, MA, once told me, Asheville is a sparkling little town. I see that when I drive down the side of Beaucatcher Mountain any night of the week and see the city lights twinkling in the dark. But I see it close up and personal, as I walk around town with a friend, or even alone sometimes, I see it in the lively streets, full of people willing to entertain for a few bucks. There are people creating their art – whether performing or playing an instrument, or street painting. It may not be as large as NYC, or quite as diverse in its population (but what city is?) but it is just as creative and interesting.

And best of all, I can be in the mountains for hiking in minutes, or on my deck, as I am now, writing, even in a tightly populated community that respects the quiet, Sunday mornings that I live for.

Peace be with you all,
gwen

Back to the Land

gwen — Sun, 14 Aug 2005 15:15:00 +0000

I am back at the Bean Street. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here. I joined a small group of women who hike on Sunday mornings. Our fearless leader is out of town, so I have the morning off. The guitarist had not started playing yet, so he came to the counter to greet me as I ordered my coffee and breakfast. He asked about me and wondered where I had been. After our pleasant exchange, I am settled into my chair, ready for the opportunity to play again with words and meaning.

Yesterday, I went to a potluck. I drove to a part of the area that I haven’t been to before.
I enjoyed driving by the small farms, lakes and creeks before heading up the mountain to the host home. The countryside has it’s own untamed order that appears to us to be chaos – trees growing where a bird has dropped a seed, weeds growing mindlessly wherever they want, and creeks that have meandered through the path of least resistance.

There is one seemingly incongruent feature I notice in the surrounding countryside. It is a gated community. The land around it is manicured and landscaped. I wondered about people who live in such places; how the orderliness might make one feel safe and secure. Humans are apt to bring our own sense of propriety and harmony to all that we do.
I compare this to my own struggle for dominance in my yard.

I confess I haven’t gotten too far with it this spring and summer, and I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about some of my landscaping woes. After I planted my small plot of lettuces, cabbages and edible flowers, I began what is going to be a long journey in taming the rest of front yard. Armed with a machete and Felco Pruners, I spent a couple of weekends cutting and killing the Japanese Knotweed that was growing the length of the front yard along the fence. Poison ivy is growing all over the place. Some vines are growing up the trees are as much as 2 inches in diameter. The difficult part of both of these undesirable plants is that they have extensive root systems. I was determined to pull the poison ivy by hand at the roots. What I discovered is that as you start pulling poison ivy, you can follow the root 3 to 4 feet from the original plant, and still not get to the end of it. After I did as much as I could by hand, I had a truckload of mulch brought in. I picked up carload after carload of flattened boxes from the recycling plant. I laid those over the worst areas (about a third of the total front yard) and then spread the mulch over that. The idea is that is that if the root system can’t get leaves out to the sun, then it would die. The cardboard eventually disintegrates leaving a nice mulched area for new useful, desirable plants. I then cleaned, raked and seeded the rest of the yard in grass.

Then, one day after my weekends of hard, backbreaking (and health building) work, I noticed a surveyor on the empty lot next door. I realized that I had procrastinated about buying the lot – thinking that it was too small to build a house, and that it was overpriced. I was wrong. The bulldozer where out there within days, uncovering all the red clay underneath the wild weeds next door. Shortly after that, the rains that followed the first hurricanes of the season came, and the next thing I know, red clay is running over my drive way and onto my dark mulch. The sight sickened me.

However, over time, the builder has proven to be a decent man and promises to replace the mulch and make it right again. I’m inclined to believe him because he has done several things that indicate that he is honest and caring.

But the whole affair - the house sitting so close to mine, my own responsibility of not acting quick enough and the red clay spread on top of my delicious black, rich looking mulch - threw me into a darkness about my landscaping and gardening plans. I lost interest and could only rush into my house when I got home. I go for refuge on my deck, which is on the opposite side of house and offers a view of greenery and sky.

After a month or so of this, I have grown tired of my situation and now want to move forward. I realize that there isn’t really much I can do about lot next door. The closeness of the house probably doesn’t bother me as much as it might some people, after all, I’m use to living with someone on the other side of the hollow walls of my apartment. Once again, the Universe provides the opportunity to practice acceptance. I can only control my attitude and perception. After a time of grieving the loss of my illusion of how things should be, I am working to accept it and trying to see the blessing in this. I have reasons to believe that I will have good neighbors. And I confess that there is a comfort in knowing that someone will be just a quick few steps away when I might need them. It’s an experience I appreciated in my building of good neighbors and friends in NYC.

So, now, I have asked the “Dirty Hoes” landscapers to create a plan for me. I’m willing to do the work, but I’m not always sure what I should be doing. They followed my guidelines for creating a landscape of useful plants – fruit bearing shrubbery, food plants, herbs for teas and medicine. They are coming this Wednesday to help build compost bins and show me how to create my garden beds for next spring. Their design efforts have already been paid out of the money I saved in their approach. One example is their idea for a compost bin. Not ever having ever built one, I was thinking of buying one already made. Their proposal is to use recycled pallets (free) and wire to create them. With their interpretation of my hopes for my yard, I have a road map to my landscaping and gardening destination.

The host house for the potluck was on top of a mountain. As I drove back home, I noticed how the journey is always longer when you don’t know where you are going. Perhaps this concept is the real Fountain of Youth – to travel to unknown territory as much as possible so that we can slow ourselves down and pay attention to the landscape and designs of our lives. Once we travel the same roads over and over, we cease to see them and allow our minds to travel to past regrets and future worries. When we are at we deem to be our destination, we realize the trip passed without our notice and happened all too fast.

There is comfort and security in landscaping our lives to our will. But when we do bravely travel new roads and notice those unexpected plants of chaotic, yet natural order that come our way, I think it’s just a way that the Universe is helping us to notice the journey of our lives, and an opportunity to accept what we can’t change, and even transforming it into the benefit that it often can be.

May you too travel a new road soon and enjoy the beauty of the surrounding landscape of your life.

Changes - Big and Small

gwen — Thu, 28 Jul 2005 13:40:00 +0000

It’s been some time since I’ve written. Since we last spoke, much has happened to me here in Asheville. Not the big earth shattering events that make us keenly aware and awake in our lives – deaths, births, civil unions (aka marriages) or even trips to Australia - but rather the marching on of small, contiguous events that ultimately creates our lives, one day at a time.

I hope I’m not repeating myself, but most of you know that I worked full time at a printing company. Without going into the drama of why, I realized that I really couldn’t do that job anymore. A new house, a new community and a new city just requires a lot of time. I decided to work for myself again. Before I gave notice though, I called the owner of Apple Advertising. We had corresponded via email while I was still in New York. It was one of the businesses I had cold-called in Asheville looking for web design. Incidentally, I never got out of the “a’s” – the printing company was Allegra. I met him when I came down mining for work last November and stayed in touch all the while. My timing was perfect. They needed someone to manage their clients website and other projects as they come up. We agreed that Croft Communications would work for him 20 – 25 hours a week. It’s been about 3 months now so I can safely say that I am enjoying the work. I still get a chance to do a little design when the art director is in a pinch, but my job is to handle the clients and coordinate the projects and people. I’m actually pretty good at that.

I finally moved from NYC and closed on my apartment. I went back during the last week of June. I spent most of my time from Tuesday through Saturday evening, reconnecting with friends and simply saying goodbye to my home of the past eleven years. Manhattan was in a relatively good mood: it was hot, but not unbearable. My little garden around the corner from me was in full bloom and I enjoyed every morning there with my coffee. It could have just been my imagination, but even the garbage trucks seemed a little more polite during those times.

I had a great time. I filled each day with lunch and dinner with friends. One night was theater – Jessica Lange and Christian Slater in “The Glass Menagerie” – with my friend Ginny. I’ve been a long time admirer of Jessica Lange. After the play, I walked a few blocks with Ginny toward her train. When we parted, I sauntered back through Time Square, savoring the excitement and energy of the place that I have long taken for granted. I found myself back in front of the theater and there was a crowd gathered by the door, apparently waiting to take Ms. Lange to her home. I stopped and a young woman (probably in her late twenties) beside me asked, “If I told my mother back home that I saw Jessica Lange, would she know who that is?” At first I was a little surprised that she didn’t know anything about Jessica Lange, but then I quickly remembered that I don’t really know anything about younger actresses. Then she asked me who Tennessee Williams was. After I took in that little shock, we talked awhile, my final opportunity to share Manhattan as a knowledgeable Manhattenite. But, when JL did come out of the theater, I decided I would play the tourist, and I got her autograph. The young lady was impressed and called her mother back home (wherever that was) to share the excitement. It was a good way to exit Manhattan. After all, theater and the tourists on Broadway is the quintessential New York Experience. How many times have I cursed them as I brushed them aside to make an appointment. I realized how empty the bright lights of Broadway would be if it weren’t for the multitudes of people enjoying them.

As luck would have it, an old golfing buddy and dear friend was in town from Portland, OR. It seems strange to call someone that, but it is true. Some of my happiest days were playing as part of a foursome at Moshulu’s (in the Bronx) nine-hole course. She and I spent the better part of a day together doing some moving errands together and catching up on our lives. I also had dinner with Elaine, my mentor and friend from Australia. She was filled with news of the farm (ReGenesis) and all my friends there. I had lunch with Amy, not only a friend but also a spiritual mentor. One evening was spent with all the girls of my long time social group who are still in NYC. Of them, one has bought a condo in Florida and plans to retire there in a few years. Another has bought a house in Northampton and will be spending more time there. And then there is my friend from Brooklyn. She was born there, lives there now, and believes she will stay there. That after all, is her home. What a warm thought (and selfish) to know that she will be there, holding down the fort for the rest of us when we come to visit our old haunts.

And finally, I ended the social swirl by going up to Connecticut on Saturday for a gathering of friends there. Ginny had organized a party on her deck. Besides sipping wine and dining on homemade cuisine, we swapped new house stories and talked about our lives. It was the perfect way to end an era in my life that has shaped and developed me in ways that I could not have imagined when I first came New York. During my eleven years, I have grown so rich from my friendships and experiences. My friends can never know how much they have contributed to some of the best days of my life. I am truly grateful for the richness they have given me.

On Monday, I moved. My son and his girlfriend came up on Friday. He lived in NYC for 6 months and had also visited me often. It felt good to share the last fews days with him. He, along with one of his friends who happened to be in NYC at the same time, loaded the truck. We went to NJ to get a stuff that I had in storage there. At 3pm the dropped me off at the PATH train nearby and I headed to the airport - with soggy hair (the heat and humidity was very high) and filthy. I tried to clean up - I took some extra clothes - in the bathroom, but generally I was pretty pathetic looking! Andy and Sheyra drove the truck to Asheville through the night and arrived at 8 am.

Exhausted, they went to bed. I went to the local mission and found two guys to unload. They were hard working, clean and respectful. Both are homeless. They told me that at the city sponsored mission they eat well and shower. They were decent guys. After we got to know each other a little better, they started talking about themselves. They accepted responsibility for what they did and didn’t do with their lives. They blame their homelessness on alcoholism. It was an interesting experience working with them for a few hours. I felt really strange dragging in everything I couldn't throw away in NYC while these guys had only what they could carry with them. Even more interesting, because I had been living with so little myself for the past few months and knew how little I need all the things I was moving. So much of what we think we need are just trappings of a well lived.

This all reminds me of my goal of living well beneath my means. Starting over isn’t easy, nor is it cheap. With a new house comes new furniture. With a new city, I need a new car. With a new climate, I need new clothes. I need a home and that means the comforts and conveniences that come with that. But there are lessons to learn here. Patience has never been my particular virtue, but perhaps it’s one that I will finally develop. I must be patient with my apartment furniture in my house until I find exactly what I want, at the price I want to pay. I am learning patience in my garden and landscape. I am deeply discovering that nature has it own time frame.

I am especially learning patience in my community. People aren’t in a rush here like they are in NYC. Often, as I stand behind someone in a store to pay, I listened to the badinage between the shopkeeper and the customer. Rather than being annoyed that they are holding me up, I am relaxing into the moment to appreciate the genuine relationship that is happening in front of me. I realize that these exchanges happen millions of time a day in millions of places, but I have too often failed to enjoy the warmth and affection of these moments. I am also enjoying that strangers still wave to each other when they pass on narrow streets, or that people almost always let you in when pulling into traffic. And then we wave. These exchanges were common in the small rural towns I grew up in. I rediscovered them in Mullum, Australia last year. I’m happy to find them again in Asheville.

Thanks once again for reading my story. I owe some gratitude to my friend Jeanne who came to visit recently. She and her partner moved from Westchester County, NY to Durham, NC around the same time I moved here. We are both southerners by birth, but now call each “New York friends.” She told me that as she and Gail drove into Asheville, she saw the “Bean Street Café”, and apparently excitedly pointed it out to Gail, who has not been getting my emails and postings. Her comments and appreciation inspired me to let go of the things that had kept me from writing for the last month. Thank you Jeanne. I needed that.

Finally, as I close, I realize maybe the events around the finality of moving are more life changing than I realized when I first started writing. Certainly, there is a less financial burden on my shoulders now, there are new friends to get to know better, and there is a new direction in my life to follow. And it is all turning out to be very much what I had often imagined for myself the last couple of years in NYC.

Break Downs

gwen — Fri, 20 May 2005 02:13:00 +0000

These days, my life seems to be about breaking down and repairing. And building, improving, creating, growing, and paying attention.

And with very little emotional drama.

My days usually start in grateful acknowledgement. This isn’t something I consciously do; it just happens. I sit a few minutes on my deck (either after or with my coffee, of course) being fully present: I feel the breeze on my face and body while listening to the symphony of birds. I had birds outside my window in NYC, but compared to these, they were more like solos and duets. This is the entire orchestra. I notice that I have a smile on my face. I feel grateful to be where I am and doing what I’m doing.

But back to breaking down and repairing. A few days ago, I returned to the surgeon who is doing a dental implant for me. Since I’m forced to do this from a fractured root that happened back last fall, I am doing some elective dental work that will enable me to have a brighter smile (more than just whitening – replacing crowns, etc.) This morning I was at the eye doctor picking out new glasses to replace the once I broke a few weeks ago. I asked him whether lifting my rather heavy lidded eyes might improve my area of vision. I have an appointment with another surgeon to pursue that (I have vision insurance for the first time in my life – it might pay). A few days earlier my car broke down – right in front of my house. Even though I had to have it towed to the garage the following day, at least I wasn’t stranded in parts unknown. Since I don’t have family here, and am just in the process of building friendships, I wouldn’t have anyone that I would be totally comfortable in calling just yet. I have a USB port on my computer that is broken. This requires I be without my computer a minimum of 5 days – possibly much longer. It is however, under warranty. I broke a gold chain and took that in for repair today.

These are some examples of the little things that keep going awry in my life. Little things that break down and require my attention. This happens in life all the time but right now there seems to be an abundance of little challenges. And some big challenges. As most of you know, I should be closing on my apartment by the end of the month. I’ve been organizing my trip back to NYC and the actual move. Initially I was concerned about how I could organize this from a distance – first even getting the names of reputable movers, getting someone to meet them a the apartment to get estimates, and then actually trusting that they would show up on the date they are suppose to. I have heard some real horror stories from others lately about their experiences in moving. I wasn’t looking forward to that.

What actually has happened is that my son has come through for me. I had offered to bring him up, knowing how much he enjoys NYC too, for moral support. And, as much as I hate to have to say this, it doesn’t hurt to have a man around. As it turns out, he is bringing his girlfriend and has a friend who will be in NYC at the same time who is willing to help. So now, I have my crew. We will do it ourselves and I am relieved of the worries of dealing with a long distance moving company. And, the best part is, that we all get time together in The Big Apple.

I admit that I am experiencing some emotional attachment to leaving New York City. I was there for 11 years, but right now it seems only like a blink of the eye. Although I am a journal writer and have been for 20+ years, I’m not sure about organized my record keeping has been of my experiences there. I am very glad that I have started documenting this phase of my life, considering that my memory is only going to get worse, not better.

The morning is getting late and I must get busy. I hope all is well with you and look forward to hearing from you. I have more news to share, but it will have to wait until the next time I am inspired to write.

Small World

gwen — Fri, 20 May 2005 02:12:00 +0000

It’s such a small world isn’t it? I had a few women over last Saturday night for potluck and card games. Karen, the artist and gallery owner I met back in January said she had a friend who lived in the neighborhood and if I didn’t mind, she would give my name to her. Her friend is also a gardener and she thought we might have that in common. The following day, while I was working in the yard, her friend came over, carrying a plant gift for me. She lives on the next street over. It was apparent that she wasn’t from the south. She retired and moved here a few years ago from Massachusetts. I commented that I knew a few people there. It turns out that we know the same people in Newburyport! Amazing isn’t it?

And that’s not all. Yesterday I went to a networking group and as everyone went around the room introducing themselves, one woman just moved here yesterday. And guess where she is from originally? My hometown. So, after the meeting we talked. Turns out she remembers meeting me ONCE about 12 – 13 years ago. A friend of mine at the time was a close friend of a friend of hers. She particularly remembered my son and asked about him. She moved away from Chattanooga too, not long after I did and has been living in various places including Brazil. She said she has always wanted to live in Asheville and since she now teaches online courses, was able to finally do it. If you were impressed with me getting out and meeting people quickly, think of her. She’s out networking within 24 hours of moving. She obviously has this moving into a new town bit down to a routine.

So, I the hypothesis that everyone in the world can be reached through a short chain of social acquaintances (six degrees of separation) is true – at least for me. It also proves, once again, just how interconnected we all are at some deep level.

Since I’ve been in the yard working so much, many of my neighbors have been coming over and introducing themselves to me. The young couple who live two doors down brought me spinach from their organic garden. They are also incorporating permaculture and organic techniques in their landscape and garden. The older gentleman who lives on the next street over, but was mowing his empty lot that runs over onto my street is the total opposite. He smoked a cigarette as he filled me in on the history of community. He’s lived there for 30 years so he’s seen it all. The older couple her live on the street behind me drove by and stopped. They are considering selling their house and two empty lots behind me. Their children want them to come live closer to them where they can take after them better as their health begins the fail. We agreed that we should talk before the sell to anyone else – it might be a good idea for me to buy it to keep the developers out of my back door and give me rental property. They aren’t in a huge hurry and until I sell my NYC apt. I can’t do anything anyway. Other neighbors have just walked by and welcomed me. They all admire my house. They are pleased, as I am, that it was a well chosen design for the property.

I am feeling less overwhelmed as I let go of the need to see everything done immediately. I am becoming more satisfied in my empty space knowing that it actually best done this way. I realize now that if I had to deal with organizing furniture along with dealing with the landscape I would probably just pack it up and leave. As it is, I am getting things accomplished in increments.

The other exciting things in my life are that I have a contract on my apartment. The buyer has to be approved by the board, but I don’t anticipate any problems. So, I should have that wrapped up by the end of June. And the other is my new job. Or should I say my new way of earning my living. I left the printing company when I had an agreement to work with an advertising agency here to handle their website development for their clients. We have agreed on between 16 – 24 hours a week. The best part is they are paying closer to the earning power I had in NYC. They have already asked (I’ve been doing this for 3 weeks now) if I would be willing ot do more. I turned them down because I am committed to a new website for a long time client in NYC. I have developed a schedule where I have my mornings for my work and necessary appointments. I go into their office from 1:30 until 5:30 in the afternoon. I am able to easily handle what they’ve needed so far, so now I don’t go home feeling like I’ve been put throw the wringer. Instead of wishing for Friday everyday, I’m surprised that it’s the end of the week. It seems so long since I’ve had a work schedule and income I really can embrace that part of me is afraid that something is wrong. Why is it when something goes right I have this response. That’s where I think my tiny bit of knowledge about Buddhism helps. It reminds me not to become so attached to the outcome whether life difficult or great. A certain amount of non-attachment and equilibrium is needed to be truly happy. I’m working on it.

I think that’s all for this morning. I started my Sunday delivery of the NYT this morning and I’m anxious to check it out. The Bean Street guitarist is strumming and my Southern Breakfast of eggs and biscuits are being served. Hope all is well with you and I especially hope I hear from you soon.

Dirty Business

gwen — Mon, 02 May 2005 02:10:00 +0000

I’m finally back at my favorite public writing spot – The Bean Street Café. When I left you last, I was on my way to buy garden tools and plants. What I actually did was contact Chuck Marsh (http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m0KWZ/is_3_3/ai_87703770) at Earthaven, an ecovillage and permaculture institute in Black Mountain, about 30 minutes from Asheville. We made an appointment for him to come look at my yard but he instinctively knew that I was anxious to get my hands in the soil. I described a small area in front of the house that was really bothering me. The glaring red clay just looked so raw. He gave me a shopping list and instructions on how to improve the soil. So I headed to Reems Creek nursery and bought a couple of tools, bags of organic mushroom soil, rock phosphate and an abundance of lettuces, cabbages and other plants to put out. After hours of trying to break up the brick clay and mixing in organic material, it started getting dark and I was getting tired. I hurriedly put in my plants, told them how beautiful they looked, watered them and went to bed. I didn’t sleep well that night because I knew that I had not worked the soil enough (there were still huge clumps, some as big as a small fist) and too quickly put in the plants. When I checked on them the next morning, even before I had my first cup of coffee, they had not keeled over, as I was afraid would be the case.

Since then, Asheville has suffered through a “Blackberry” winter. I think that’s the same thing as a “Dogwood” winter. In other words (for my friends unversed in the southern language), it’s a period of cold weather after the dogwoods, or blackberries, have started blooming. We had a couple of days that hit freezing at night, along with some heavy winds and rain. All the local advise was to bring in the plants you could, and cover the ones you can’t. I found some plastic left behind by the builders and spent the next few days trying to keep them warm and protected. Now, the weather has warmed up and they seem to be happy, especially now that I have added a little liquid plant food. Obviously, the red clay is as nutritious to them as potato chips are to me. On Chuck’s advice, I praise them each day and tell them what beautiful salads they will make. I believe that makes them happy because they will be living a purposeful and meaningful life. In the meantime, they have softened the landscape a bit.

A few days later, Chuck came out and gave me a list of things I need to do to “stabilize my yard. He gave me a list of materials and tools that I will need. He also gave me the name of a young woman with a pick up truck who is starting out in her own consulting/landscaping business to help me with the labor. He can only do the planning and consulting part of it with me. The idea is to landscape without using any chemicals and to plant useful plants – edible and medicinal. Initially, I am planting grass that theoretically doesn’t require mowing, in my “top 40” – the part closest to the road. I had a truck load of double ground hardwood mulch delivered to my house that will go in the “bottom 40” – the area nearest the house - and to the sides. In the back I will just cover the ground with straw for the time being. I plan on putting in raised garden beds eventually. I have a lot of weeds to chop down from the fence between my property and the neighbors. Eventually, I will create a vertical garden – vines that will make use of the support. I also have a lot of prep work to do the yard. The bulldozers have pushed dirt up against the trees and that has to be dug out before it kills them. As you can see, I have my work cut out for me. But, I am improving my physical health each time I swing my machete at a weed and helping my mental health as I marry my plants and seeds to the earth.

Does this all sound good and wonderful? It is – for the most part. It’s also sometimes feels overwhelming (my issues of wanting it all done and now) and a little lonely (the young woman is as much moral support as for physical help). But I have developed technique for that. I imagine myself back in New York imagining myself where I am now. I got what I ask for. This was my intention. I was getting lonely in NYC after so many of my friends had moved. I felt trapped, unable to get closer to Mother Nature. I remember what was and appreciate what is. I am grateful and must learn patience in my quest of transformation - for my land and myself.

How does my Garden Grow?

gwen — Mon, 18 Apr 2005 02:08:00 +0000

I wish I could be saying I am writing from the deck of my new home, but I can’t. I’m instead writing from the kitchen of my new home while looking out into the deck and beyond to the flowering trees and hanging vines. It’s a quiet Sunday morning in the neighborhood of West Asheville. It’s simply too cool to be outside just yet, although it is expected to reach the mid-70’s sometime today.

I moved in on Thursday night – it took all of two carloads. I closed a week ago from last Friday. My friend, Alice, from Chattanooga, drove over last weekend and kept me from freaking out from feeling overwhelmed with all that needs to be done. We shopped for blinds and attempted to put up the first set. We had some difficulties. But with her “Do it Herself” toolkit, the job eventually got done. I got the basic privacy I need. Next we tackled some furniture needs. As you know, almost everything I own is either in my NYC apartment, or in storage in NJ. We went to the Biltmore Exchange (advertised as quality consignments). I bought a rocking chair to sit next to bedroom window and she bought two chairs for her own home. Next we found an outdoor glass top table at Big Lots for $29.99 (I saw the same thing at Sears yesterday for $119!) and then 4 chairs from Bed, Bath, and Beyond (same price as Sears). She talked me into a 4 place setting of dishes and flatware from PLEG’s Closeouts for $10. I was going to steal plastic from McDonalds! Combined with the small TV she is loaning me, I am living comfortably enough until I can shop for other furniture and get my own stuff here. I had already bought a mattress/springs and yesterday bought a washer and dryer, which will be delivered tomorrow. Not a minute too soon – I am down to the last of clean clothes for work tomorrow.

I got the cable hooked up so I have a good strong DSL signal. I am contemplating not putting in phone lines. It would cost around $300 for all the jacks and wiring. I am instead considering getting Vonage – broadband phone service. Anyone had any experience with this? Let me know. It appears to be much cheaper and portable. I am still using my cell as my main phone, which is actually working quite well. Don’t buy stock in the phone companies – I think the new technologies will eventually phase them out.

The big thing I have to tackle now is the yard. As I look out my back door, I can almost imagine a Mars Rover picking its way over the red clay that will someday be my garden. The front yard has some nice old mature trees but I have some steep banks that need seeding quickly before my yard belongs to my neighbors. I envision doing everything in the front with mulch and edible plants. I have no intentions of buying a lawn mower.

Each night before I go to bed, I step outside onto the deck and look up into the clear night and see the moon and stars. It is then that I am reminded what I am doing here. I left New York just for this. It is the reconnection to nature I longed for. It is actually happening. I remind myself that it is a fantasy to think that everything will be easy or perfect. That just isn’t real life. I can’t think that all my problems go away because I moved here. Quite to opposite: I just got a whole new set of problems to deal with. But the new problems are the challenges that are on the path toward creating a life I want, moment by moment. I do best when I remember it’s the journey that counts and how I approach it – not the destination. If I keep that in mind, then the destination will follow. When one is on the road leading to one’s dreams, then by all natural laws, it will happen.

I entertained my first guest last night. Karen, and seemed to love it. She walked into the dinning/kitchen/deck area, and she said she could just see the gatherings and parties that will be happening here. I think she’s right. She also brought me a large Smoky Mountain crystal, full of mystical energy, to put in my garden. Right now, it is on my deck, between too ceramic characters I bought yesterday on my shopping spree. One is a turtle who has his head lifted up in a huge laugh and the other is s bright colorful fish, full of happiness. I smile each time I look out on the deck and see their little faces. Even Bessie is making friends with them. She, by the way, is adapting better than I thought. The deck has replaced her NYC fire escape and there are some flies and birds to occupy her. She would rather be looking over the street at the cars and bustling people, but I think she will eventually move from being a city kitty to a country cat.

That is all for now. I am off to the nurseries and garden supplies with photos of my yard. If they shake their heads and say I’m doomed, I’ll leave tomorrow for NYC. But I suspect with enough cash and credit, my fantasy gardens will bloom fully.

It is Spring!

gwen — Mon, 21 Mar 2005 03:06:00 +0000

I’m sure we must all know that today is the first day of spring. I’ve been noticing the buds on the trees and the daffodils blooming in the yards and along the streets of Asheville. I’m so grateful that warm weather is on its way. It feels like its been a long time since I’ve experienced a real summer. I was in Australia last June and July, which is their winter. Although it wasn’t like a winter here, it still wasn’t “shorts” weather. I’m truly ready for some heat. It’s my favorite time of year.

The big news here is that I did sign a contract on the house I mentioned in my last email. I have tried very hard to keep my ultimate goals in sight as I looked at property. I knew anything I would buy would be larger than a New York apartment – meaning an investment in furniture. I also wanted to keep the price low enough so that I could bank a good portion of my profit from NYC for my old(er?) age. And with a little more investment in finishing the upstairs into a second apartment, there is potential for future income. I think I mentioned that I fell in love with the house, and the yard offers space for a garden. My only concern was the neighborhood. But I drove and drove and drove all around and found that it isn’t too far from the French Broad River and a park along side. It’s also near an area where cool shops are already coming in. I spoke to a number of people who said West Asheville is the fastest growing area for home appreciation. As I drove around, I realized there are a number of number of larger and newer homes nearby, and older homes that have been updated. I finally realized that what really bothered me is the house directly in front of me: it’s a small rental with no appeal.

I’m excited and overwhelmed at the same time. I’m looking forward to having a place of my own – and a home that is a creation of my own style and personality. That’s the part of my personality that I want to nurture and bring forth here is Asheville. But then there’s that dark side that worries about the money. I guess that’s my evil penny pincher, borne of tougher times. This past week I’ve awakened almost every morning is a cold sweat. What have I done? What have I done? I’m in a new place, a new job, surrounded by new people and here I am buying a new house! The fear takes over. But then, slowly the day breaks and the light brings a feeling that it will all be ok. Light over darkness. Faith over fear. It’s just the journey of a well-lived life. One that we are all called to travel.

Today, I joined met for the first time with the book club I wasn’t invited to join a few weeks ago as I sat writing in the Bean Street Café. I was a little nervous. What were these women like? Intellectual? Bright? Well spoken? Perhaps I would have nothing in common with them. I should not have wasted a moment worrying. The jumped right into the deep, difficult subject of any woman’s life: hair. I now think I was invited to join because I have straight hair. The need someone to balance their curly hair problems. If only they knew how much I want curly hair! Maybe it will happen in my next life. I’m really not a spiritual person at all – I’m building good karma for my hair issues.

We finally got into our discussion of the “Life of Pi.” One woman didn’t finish it because she had issue with the brutality of the animal world. One thought is was ok. Two of us thought is was brilliant! The author introduces the story as one that will make you believe in God. Tall order. If we are indeed created in the image of God, then God is all about imagination. Without it, we are nothing. It is main character’s imagnition (in my humble opinion) that allows him to survive a situation that is unimaginable. I certainly believe it is our ability to imagine a better life, a bigger life, that gives our lives meaning. I highly recommend the book. After a puzzling start (which actually contributes to the book) it is engrossing and if you are like me, you will rush to finish it because you must know. The writer is brilliant: not a word is gratuitous. It is all meaningful on many different levels. Yet, it is a simple story, but strange story. Read it.

We ended the session celebrating the Piscean birthday – three of us altogether in a group of six. In fact, I’m noticing a high percentage of us in Asheville. It’s supposedly the most spiritual of the signs. Which also reminds me of an incident with the builder of my house. After the contract was signed and we were just chating a little, he told me that Asheville is replacing Sedona as the spiritual capital of the US. Bear in mind that this is a 76 year old man – not a sex or age inclined to out the box spirituality. HE also told me that when he first saw me, he knew that he knew me. I ask the obvious question, “from a previous life?” The answer was yes. We briefly revisited this yesterday when I met him to stake out the driveway for the pavers tomorrow. Truly unlike any man I’ve ever met in his age bracket. He also shared that he had lost his youngest son to 10 open heart surgeries, and two other of his 6 children. He’s had a difficult life this time around.

I am now writing you from the Mellow Mushroom – where the Pizza’s are always Stoned Baked.