Okay, here’s the deal…I have been doing a LOT of landscaping lately. My husband is on light duty as he has what might be a bulging disk, so I have hauled the equivalent of about 8,000 pounds of recycled rubber mulch. You would think I would be getting buff and toned. Instead, I got sore and cranky. YES, crankier than usual…

I had a few days off from the shop as our best buddy from our California days came to visit. When I went back to work, Joan took off to wing her way to Connecticut to visit her dad. It seemed like a good trade off…that was until I went to the Dr. before I headed in to work, and found out I have a torn rotator cuff and bicipital tendonitis. Yea!

I am given strict instructions NOT TO LIFT ANYTHING!!! I am also given some steroids and my lovely new best friend, Vicodin. I can see why people get addicted to this stuff. After not be able to sleep for several nights due to the pain, I slept like I haven’t slept since I’ve had kids. Heck, I slept better than I have since I’ve been married!!! Those of you who are, or have been married know the whole snoring, cover-stealing scenario is a nightly ordeal that can seriously affect the quality of your nighty-night time.

Back to the story…I put my key into the shop door and push it aside to discover the furniture Joan bought while I was out…sitting in the middle of well, EVERYWHERE! Naturally, I couldn’t leave boxes in the way, and furniture jammed willy-nilly everywhere. Besides, my shoulder was feeling MUCH better…thanks Vicodin! So I hauled furniture and rearranged existing inventory…including this 300 pound cast concrete garden statuary. Barely felt a thing. In fact, I talked to my friend, Tracie, who informed me I apparently feel a little too good as I am slurring my words. She says she might even have our friend, Jill, who works next door come check on me. Pshaw!

Then I began to feel again. Not good…A woman came in who had purchased an antique iron bed while I was on vacation, and needed it loaded into her pickup. She’s a good customer and all around pleasant gal, so…naturally, I helped her. I’ll be fine.

Day two finds my arm throbbing, and my friend Vic, has abandoned me. He’s fallen down on the job, and is not managing the pain, so I decide to rest in my workspace and bone up on some art techniques by reading my stack of books. Later in the afternoon, a very nice gentleman comes in and looks around, and we have an interesting conversation about sports and people we both know. The day progresses uneventfully until nearly closing, when the man comes back in with his wife. She decided she would like to purchase, you guessed it…the garden statue. Oh, and her husband who happens to be a well-known football coach around these parts has a hernia…Of course I’ll help. In fact, I hauled it out to their car by myself. Frankly, I’m glad to be rid of it at this point. They are a very nice couple, and I appreciate their business immensely…I just hope the next time they come the buy something a little lighter.

Day three, and I am back to not sleeping. I don a sling and head to work, determined NOT to lift or move anything. I did pretty good, and got started on a more artistic pursuit with the help of my lovely sister, Keri. I am creating some magnets from glass and copper, and decided to use some new metal glue that ‘PERMANENTLY BONDS INSTANTLY’ instead of soldering. All was going well…That is, until the glue decided it was going to keep coming out of the tube AFTER I stopped squeezing it. A big blob lands on my brand new khaki shorts, DAMMIT, and I bend over to grab a paper towel, and VOILA! I manage to glue the front of my shirt to my pant leg. DOUBLE DAMMIT! Then the phone starts ringing.

I manage to pry my clothing apart in time to answer the phone. It’s a customer who is coming to pick up the table and chairs she purchased a couple of weeks ago. SIGH…She, however, is an AWESOME woman, and brings her friends to help her. Debbie is new to town, and I am so glad she is here…I’m hoping we get to be friends, but since she’s a minister, I may have to curtail my swearing and kick my Vicodin habit. Hmmmmmm….From the time I’ve visited with her, and the damage I’ve inflicted on myself since I’ve been with Vic, I’d say it’s definitely worth a shot.

Well, I’m off to see if I can at least get this dried metal superglue off of my fingers…Wish me luck. Oh, and DON’T try this at home…or at work for that matter.

My husband can’t understand why I am drawn to Farm Town on Facebook. Much like I don’t get the attraction to X-Box, and those kind of games. I haven’t been playing all that long, and I’m sure I still have a lot to learn. However, there is something both relaxing and exciting about the game. I suppose with today’s economy, part of the allure comes from making money, even if it is pretend.

Since I have been playing Farm Town, I have noticed some things about the game that parallel real life, and wanted to take the time to jot them down, as we can all use some gentle reminders from time to time.

1.) Get out of your own way.

This may sound obvious, but playing on Farm Town proves this isn’t always easy to accomplish. It would seem that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Unfortunately, life seldom gives us a straight path to travel. Sometimes you end up going waaaaaay out of your way with seemingly little control, which can be extremely frustrating. Many times we have to get out of our own way, even if it is inconvenient and takes a bit longer, in order to reap what we have sown, till new ground or plant new seeds.

2.) In the end, patience is truly a virtue.

Sometimes we want things from other people RIGHT NOW! The problem is, sometimes they just don’t have it to give to you. Sometimes people mean well, and plant crops (or relationships), only to let them go to waste, or maybe they’re simply not ready yet. This is a reminder that like crops, life happens at its own pace. Be patient. That’s not to say you need to stand around a potato field (or a person) that has gone to waste, when there’s no visible effort on their part to make improvements. By all means, let your energy flow patiently in a new direction. This also reminds me of a favorite quote. I’m sorry to say I’m not sure who attribute it to, but it goes something like this…”Nature hurries not, yet everything is accomplished.”

3.) Nice matters!

This can be especially hard on days when other people may not have been very nice to us. However, even on your darkest day, there is almost certainly someone worse off than you. Take the time to say hello to someone, ask them about their day, hold the door, or offer help to someone struggling. It only takes a minute or two, and I promise you will feel better after you perform some random kindness.

4.) We’re all in this together.

Whether we have a large group of friends and acquaintances, or just a few people we interact with, we are all connected somewhere along the way. Therefore, it behooves us to get along and work together. What’s good for your neighbor, is good for you.

5.) There will be glitches.

No matter how hard we may try to do everything just right, there will be times when things don’t go according to plan. In Farm Town, you might be just getting started on some really sweet harvesting gig, only to get kicked off the mainframe. Admit it, you get a little angry when this happens, right? You find yourself asking “What did I do to deserve this?! How come I got kicked off while that snarky, Suzie HoeDown, was still smiling in the midst of the virtual pumpkin patch racking up coins?” You know what you did wrong? Absolutely nothing. You have no control over some things, and yet the ones we do have control over like our weight, our angry outbursts and the like, we don’t seem to give a darn about most days. The best course of action is to take a deep breath, plot an alternate course and don’t give up. You know that old, horribly non-PC saying, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat?” (Yes, I agree it’s gross and not condoned in any way by me.) Well, it’s true of everything. There is always more than one way to accomplish what you set out to do. Never, never give up.

6.) Lend a hand when you can, and ask for help when you need it.

Everyone needs a little help from time to time. Unfortunately, I am one of those people who has trouble with the latter. I could be up to my neck in quick sand, and if the National Guard showed up and asked if I needed help, my first instinct would be to reply, “Nah, I’m fine. You go on. I’m sure you have something more important to do.” I have a raging case of what every parent knows as “ME-DO Syndrome.” I often hesitate to admit I need help, and seldom ask for it until it’s very nearly too late…even when I find myself struggling or even failing miserably. I am always more than ready to lend a hand, but have an extremely hard time accepting one. Farm Town sets an excellent example by showing us that when we let others help us, it really benefits both parties in the end.

7.) Finish what you start…it’s a green thing.

A potato field is a terrible thing to let go to waste. So many of us only half finish things. (Just ask my husband how many unfinished projects I have scattered around.) So often we invest our time and energy to start something, only to stop part way through and leave it unfinished. Whether it is that afghan you started crocheting, that piece of furniture you began to refinish, the guest room you’d like to reclaim from storeroom status, or a Farm Town potato field, wasted personal energy and resources breed the belief that if we can’t accomplish these things, what chance do we have when it’s something really important. That is simply stinkin’ thinkin’ and has no place in our lives. Go green with yourself! You’ll be glad you did.

Just coming off of a GREAT weekend here in my hometown of Jefferson, Iowa. We had our local Bell Tower Festival this weekend and it was also our one year anniversary at JUNCK, so Joan and I are recuperating from a wonderful, crazy, busy few days at the shop…AND it was my class reunion weekend as well.

Joan and I spent long hours at the shop for most of the past week, and it was soooo worth it. We had Red Monkey Root Beer from Olde Main Brewing in Ames, and different cakes everyday from Angie’s Tea Garden just a couple of shops down from JUNCK. We also had lemonade and other snacks, but the cake and root beer were the highlights of our refreshment scene. It is so great when people can do what they love, and combine their passion with their work, like Angie and the brewers at Olde Main…and all of us here who are lucky to have JUNCK as an outlet.

We also highlighted area artists and artisans this weekend at the shop, including Ryan Seiler, Stacie Clark, Dean Wilkins, Joan and myself and my husband Craig, and son Carson, who happens to be the kid behind Power Cords. It was super to be able to highlight everyone’s creativity and unique gifts. It’s never easy putting in the long hours to follow your passion, but this weekend was such a great experience, I’m glad we all do what we do.

We met so many new people who had never been in the shop before, and many who had never been in Jefferson, and the buzz was great about both. We can all be proud of the way we welcomed visitors to town, and from the conversations we had, we may even have met some future neighbors. People loved the way the town pulled together for Festival, and I have to say, I agree it was wonderful. It’s easy to let the daily burdens mount up and get us down, or to get frustrated, but we have proven that great stuff happens in small towns.

The Melson girls were also back in town, and we had a great visit with them. Cindy Melson brought in a family of sock monkeys for us, and donated the proceeds to PAWS, our local animal shelter. There is only one monkey left, and I am certain he will find a good home very soon.

My class reunion was also held here in town this weekend, and I have to say it was wonderful seeing everyone again. The Class of 1984 has grown up into some pretty amazing people, as have the other classes who came home to celebrate. One of my classmates, John Copeland, moved back to our hometown this year and is doing a great job with his green renovation of a loft space on our block. Another classmate who chose to stay here in Jefferson, offered a tour of the wind farm he’s a partner in north of town, so kudos to David Ausberger as well.

Growing up here in rural America was an experience that really connected us to the planet, and we seem to share several common green threads. I guess we have also revamped Timothy Leary’s famous phrase to read more like “Turn on to green, tune in to your passion and get involved.”

Our class wasn’t perfect and wasn’t without its growing pains and teen drama, but I can honestly say that getting to know these people again that I spent so much time with as a kid, has made me realize that High School is a bit like Vegas…a lot of what happens there, should stay there. I hope the people that stayed away because of what may, or may not have happened all those years ago will come to the next reunion. We’d really like to see you.

Best wishes from the class of ’84 to Steve Burke and his soon-to-be bride, Katie Bush (who is simply lovely) who will be married on Independence Day. (Having been married for nearly 20 years myself, I could make a joke here, but I won’t.) We sincerely wish you all the best for this new chapter in your lives!

I guess the long and the short of it can be summed up with the phrase I wrote on the chalkboard we have in the shop window. I pondered what to write for this weekend, knowing we get so many people from out of town, and tons of people back for a visit. I decided to use something I frequently saw on billboards along the freeway in the Bay Area…because Joan and I and our families are lucky enough to live it every day.

If you lived here…you’d be HOME by now.

OK. So here’s the deal…This past weekend my husband and I were outside working in the front yard, trying to nab that ever-elusive yard of the month trophy. (Don’t get me started on the back yard, as I’m sure even the Viet-Cong couldn’t find their way out of that horrific mess. Yes, I AM serious.) While we were doing hand-to-hand combat with the thistles and what I’m quite sure are some species of SUPER nettles, we became the victims of a sneak attack by a pack of wild dogs.

Well, all right, it was one dog…and it was…a dachshund. The perpetrator made his way along the perimeter unseen (WHAT?! I told you I was doing yard work! So I hadn’t trimmed yet, OK?!) and launched a surprise attack. Actually Craig had to stop mowing because the dog was darting around the lawn. I had seen the dog the afternoon before roaming around on the church lawn next to us, and was hoping someone hadn’t dumped it. We called to the little feller’ and he high-tailed it back under the fence about 80 miles and hour. (Who knew dachshunds were so speedy?)

Later that night he was back snooping around like he was starving. So I did what any good dog mom would do. I broke out the broasted chicken I had gotten to give one of our dogs his medicine (let, me tell you, he was none too happy about me sharing) and laid a trail along the driveway and left a little pile next to a dish of water up by the house.

The next day we continued to catch glimpses of him darting back and forth under the fence as we continued our battle with the brush (and for anyone who happened to drive by, my sincerest apologies. I know I am NOT tank-top material, but it was hot outside, and I wanted to get some sun.)

Having a late dinner that night, my husband stepped out into the garage with his BBQ tongs, and nearly had a coronary. (Remind me to tell you about the raccoon and my husband’s Chevy Chase impersonation later.) The dog was right outside the kitchen door, and since it was kind of dark, my husband simply knew there was something furry in close proximity. (Having seen a badger in our front yard, I can hardly blame him.) Anyway, my husband shouted, the dog bolted, and we proceeded to grill some lovely steaks.

As we were sitting on the front patio enjoying our newly manicured lawn and a cold beverage (Corona) while the red meat sizzled, the dog appeared at our patio step. We made no sudden moves and I quietly tried to coax what we could now see was a collarless silky-haired dachshund up onto the porch. (Apparently it doesn’t appreciate fine Mexican beer. His/her loss.)

By now, we have decided the dog is a stray, and my husband has dubbed it ‘Pork Chop.’ I put out food and water for the little dear, and my husband has begun to fantasize about watching the Super Bowl with ‘Pork Chop,’ who he is certain won’t be as annoying to him as our other two dogs. (He smote my furry children and shall be dealt with severely later. Oh yes, he WILL pay.)

The next morning the food is gone, and we are entering “Pork Chop Watch” day four. We catch glimpses of him/her throughout the day, and any, and all attempts to call the little darling (can you tell my teeth are now gritted) are for naught. Our boys, who wouldn’t say grace at Christmas if you withheld their gifts, are now openly praying for little ‘Pork Chop.’ (Yes, I AM rolling my eyes, thank you very much!) Even one of the neighbor boys stops by on his bike looking for the dog. Apparently he has been at EVERYONE’S house, and ‘Pork Chop’ may be an appropriate moniker sooner, rather than later.

My oldest son and I leave to run an errand that evening as a tremendous lightning storm is blazing on the horizon. As we return home, my son says, “I think we should pray for Pork Chop. This storm looks bad, and he’s soooo little.” So as we are approaching our driveway, we pray, out loud, for the dog. We turn into the driveway, and come to a screeching halt because THERE, in the middle of our driveway, is doot doot doooooo Pork Chop. He runs all the way up the driveway (ALL 400 FEET) in front of my SUV and then darts off into the dark and stormy night. (Yes, I went there and used the dark and stormy night line, and YES, I know I am ruining the planet, but with this economy, who can afford a new car?!)

Now the boys are watching intently out the window as the lightning flashes and thunder crashes, praying for the dog…AGAIN. Our youngest says he sees him, and begs me to put food out in the garage. By now, I have decided to leave a trail of food leading into my office, adjacent to the garage. (I am only willing to play chase me, chase me for so long. It is time for catchy, catchy.) Pork Chop is spotted heading up the driveway, and has followed the trail of food into the garage. I have now stationed myself so that I am peering through a crack in the door, and can jump out and close the door to my office. Pork Chop is juuuuust edging over the threshold into my office, when my husband, oblivious to the dog trapping taking place in the next room, yells about Legos being strewn all over the living room. The dog bolts, and I…am done.

I have decided there will be no more broasted chicken and bowls of water for this little moocher, who has probably discovered the neighbors are all suckers and will feed him tasty tidbits instead of the nasty dry crap that is probably waiting for him at home in some Pottery Barn dog dish. I have steeled myself against this little ankle biter…end of story.

The next morning our yard appears to be Pork Chop free. I head into the shop (JUNCK), and soon after arriving, my phone rings. It’s my oldest son calling to tell me Pork Chop is in our back yard, INSIDE the fence. With a heavy sigh, I tell him if he can catch him more power to him, and make a mental note to tell my husband if we ever do manage to snag the little devil, his name is going to be Houdini.

I leapt out of bed this Mother’s Day at 6:00, with a spring in my step, and a delightful plan. It included a delectable recipe from my latest issues of Martha Stewart LIVING. (Yes, that’s AM, uh-huh on Mother’s Day…MY day.)

As my loving family was still sleeping, bless their hearts, I pulled out my stainless steel bowls, whisk, and other utensils silently in preparation, as I didn’t want to wake them…the darlings.

I opened the refrigerator and extracted one fabulous looking orange to zest, and then began rummaging around for my nutmeg grater. (I don’t have an orange zester…not that I haven’t been invited to enough kitchenware parties to have scored one by now.) I softened the unsalted butter, and mixed in the freshly squeezed orange juice, the pure maple syrup, the coarsely ground salt and the orange zest. Doesn’t it sound scrumptious? Orange maple butter…Yum!

I rinsed the fresh blueberries and tossed them with sugar and set them aside as I whisked together the other ingredients. Who wouldn’t love corn meal in their pancakes?

One by one, the sleepy heads appeared in the kitchen and wandered off to watch CBS Sunday Morning while I finished preparing breakfast with that deep motherly love that makes having a family a blessing.

Our littlest guy was first up at the table with his plate of delicious goodness…and the lovely morning began to roll downhill from there.

“Why are there blueberries in my pancakes?” the little scamp asked. “Because Mommy made blueberry pancakes, Honey,” I replied, oozing love, or perhaps orange-maple butter. “But these berries are round!” Ummm OK…“Blueberries ARE round Sweetie, you like blueberries, like in muffins and bagels,” I deftly countered, beginning to lose just a hint of my motherly effervescence. “But I DON’T like THESE!” He proceeds to extract the blueberries from his pancakes with the precision of a neurosurgeon, careful to also remove any of the pancake that has come into contact with said blueberries.

“Fine,” I say to myself, “He has always been the picky eater of the bunch. Everyone else will simply devour them and beg for more,” I assure myself, only to be met with “Why do these blueberry pancakes taste like oranges? These taste funny. I’d rather have them without the blueberries, to be perfectly honest.” My oldest, has spoken, and my husband has grudgingly eaten his pancakes and begins pawing around behind me in the kitchen like a bear, looking for the bacon he knows is warming in the oven. “Where’s the bacon?”

“Fine, fine, FINE!!!” I growl, with an attitude that would send George Steinbrenner running for cover. Don’t believe me, just ask my kids. These are kids who have now heard Mommy throwing the F-bomb around the kitchen like it’s a super ball.

As I slam the pans and utensils around removing all traces of my Mother’s Day fiasco, my husband tells me he wished I had gotten moving a little sooner, as we are SUPPOSED to be driving out of town to shop for baseball equipment today, or have I fogotten. For those of you who may be asking, yes, he IS still alive. I see revenge as a dish best served cold. One that cold cocks you like a rogue pitch when you aren’t even in the batter’s box.

Seems to me somebody is turning 50 this year…(No it’s NOT me, and if you were entertaining that thought, let me just take the opportunity to say, F*#% you!, F*#% you very much!) Perhaps I will steal his ‘Chick Magnet’ shirt out of his closet to wear to the party he doesn’t want to have, and tell him there’s something we need to talk about…in front of his friends and family. Can you go to jail for causing someone to have a stroke as part of an elaborate joke?

Of course, if I throw a party, then I would have to see what else Ms. Martha has in the way of party food…Hmmmmm.

P.S. I should mention that at 11:03 my oldest son did tell me Happy Mother’s Day, and that he was sorry they weren’t happier about the pancakes, but that he thought I would want to know they really weren’t very good, since it seemed like I went to a lot of work, and he really appreciated the effort.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

Smaller is better.

…And you’d better learn how to adapt quickly. Remember the dinosaurs? HUGE failure to adapt problem. The new “it” thing is small. Now I am not denying that we live in a global economy, but self-sustainability truly begins at home.

Self -sustainable businesses and communities can and should sell to a global market…what they should NOT do however, is try to become the global market. It is lack of diversity and conglomerate corporate greed that have taken the economy down. The only way out of this mess these ‘Goliath’ businesses have gotten us all into, is to let ‘David’ (the American people) use his slingshot.

Hand ‘David’ the ammunition he needs to rebuild the economy one business and one community at a time. The pebbles for his slingshot will cost a mere pittance compared to what it will take to pull Goliath out of the hole into which he has fallen (and dug for himself.) Simply grab a shovel and fill the hole with dirt, and let Goliath rest in peace. Otherwise, the hole will continue to grow until every last one of us falls in.

Small isn’t new. Life is cyclical, and that quote about being doomed to repeat history is true. There are a number of things we CAN and SHOULD be doing instead of bailing out Goliath. Here are a couple of my favorites…

• Pick up the book, Small is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered, by E.F. Shumacher.

• Call the Sirolli Institute. They teach entire communities all over the world how to create a diverse economy for less than $3,000 per job created. Seems a drop in the bucket when you compare it to the $100,000-300,000 quoted in the stimulus figures. Heck, it’s way better than the $50,000 per job cost we have been paying through the conventional economic development programs we’ve already been funding. Plus these project communities learn how to work together to support the people who are already there! With business sustainability rates of something like 85% after five years using Sirolli know-how at a time when something like 70-80% of new businesses fail, it’s a logical step to take.

If you agree that it’s time we helped ourselves…(I mean, really…does it look like D.C. is paying attention other than to grab sound bytes on the news?) Pass this on to everyone you know who wants their community to do better, to be a better place to live, and to get us back on the road to economic Wellville.

I’d like to share my favorite quote, as it is so appropriate, and so true…

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has. Margaret Mead

For all you visual thinkers…imagine a plush, thick green lawn. Now imagine a dry, hard patch of dirt with two giant blades of grass waving in the wind. Which patch of land will cease to be a ‘lawn’ if two blades are plucked from each. That’s what our economy has become. A barren patch with a hand full of giant blades of grass. I know which lawn I’d pick.

Well, it’s only a mere four days until Christmas rolls around. Although, if you asked my youngest son, he would say they are going to be the four LONGEST days on the calendar. While many people have been planning, shopping and baking for months, we are now entering that part of the season where people will practically sprint through the malls covered in flop sweat, trying to get their hands on THE latest gadget, gizmo or toy.

Today while we were decorating our tree (yes, it IS late and there’s an explanation which I won’t get into now), I got to thinking back about Christmases past. I remember the exciting Christmas before I moved to California, when my then boyfriend (now husband) gave me a promise ring, which I keep tucked away in the little lucite and velvet box it came in. It is kept company in that little box by a little white rubber band my husband gave me to wear on a picnic lunch he had fixed for me. If you were to ask me to choose between the two, I couldn’t. 

As silly as it sounds I would probably choose the rubber band, and I’ll tell you why. My husband and I worked separate shifts for the first five years we were together, and he would bike clear across town to where I worked to visit me on my lunch hour before he had to go to work. That particular day wasn’t special, it was just an ordinary day in the middle of the week. He brought me a bologna sandwich on wheat bread, and couple of pickles spears. He EVEN put ketchup on my sandwich, which he detests. (Ketchup on bologna, not ketchup in general.)

As we sat on the picnic table in the California winter sunshine, we talked about the ‘tan’ people who lived across the street from the park in the tan house. We called them the tan people because they not only lived in a tan house, but they more often than not, wore tan clothes and also drove tan cars. We decided then and there we would NEVER be the tan people. Then he gave me the little rubber band ring, which I wore clear through the weekend.

It made me realize it truly IS the thought that counts. Not how much we spend, or where we shop, or even IF we shop. We all know the true reason for the season, Christ’s birthday. (True, there wasn’t much empathy on that particular night all those years ago.) However, we enjoy the spirit of Christmas that exists because it is the one time of the year when we are all a little kinder, more thoughtful and generous to those around us. 

The odd thing is, we get much more in return from our kindness and generosity than it actually costs us. We feel truly good about ourselves and the world around us, yet we don’t do it all the time. We could live this year round…compassionate, caring and doing the right thing just because.

Give it some thought. I’ll check back with you next year to see how you decided to live 2009. As for me, I’m going to go find my rubber band ring, and start my New Year early.

All the best to you and yours!

Kristin

Black Friday occurred yesterday, and it truly was a black day for us all. It has become the day when throngs of American shoppers gather en masse at Corporate America’s big box stores in an attempt to wrestle bargains from their friends and neighbors into their own overloaded carts.

There are a number of things wrong with what has become symbolic of the American shopping experience. Thousands of people, standing around in parking lots in the pre-dawn hours jockeying for position to be the first through the door, so that they can be one of the few to grab their ‘bargain’ and hoist it high in victory. In light of what is going on around the world with the economy, various wars and terrorism, is there really anything that any of us need so desperately that can be found at a Wal-Mart, Best Buy, or Macy’s?

With so many people out of work, homeless and unable to afford healthcare, food or heat as winter approaches, the majority has once again shown what it important to them. Stuff. We can hardly point the finger at Corporate America for their spending and excesses when our own actions have once again uttered in no uncertain terms “What’s in it for me?!” Many shoppers have traveled to other cities to claim their bargains, leaving behind the retailers in their own communities, many of whom are scrambling to stay afloat in light of the economy.

However, the worst instance of corporate and public greed was personified yesterday as a temporary worker at a Wal-Mart on Long Island was trampled to death as he attempted to help open the doors for bargain hunters. It is said that hundreds of people ran, stomped and climbed over his body before people could even get to his body to offer aid. Shame on us all.

Don’t get me wrong, as a retailer myself, I am all for profit, but unlike most, not at any cost. Our shop utilizes many cast-off items to keep things out of the landfills, and we are running a sale from September 1st through December 31st to give everyone a chance to take advantage of our in-store discount. But most importantly, we are giving a percentage of our profits from this sale back to our local schools, who are facing difficult budget cuts during these troubled economic times.

As a former economic development and marketing professional, I think there is a solution to Black Friday that will help stores build brand, customer loyalty and increase sales year round. Stores could still offer these seasonal discounts, but with a twist. They simply encourage people to save their receipts throughout the year, and by a given date, have them return each of them with their contact information for a drawing. The more receipts people turn in, the better their chance of being selected. Stores decide the number of people they will choose to receive a pre-determined winning discount amount for their one-time holiday purchase, or from selected merchandise. These lucky shoppers will then have from the drawing time until Christmas to make their discounted purchases. No pulsing throngs of shoppers slugging it out in the toy department, no hair pulling at the jewelry counter, and no fighting over discounted video game consoles. Just a steady stream of well-behaved shoppers year round.

If stores decide to take my suggestion, who knows, you may be the lucky recipient of a discounted pre-Christmas shopping experience next year. However, if Black Friday continues as it has, you might not be so lucky.

While everyone likes gifts, material possessions are certainly not the reason for this holiday season, and I hope that during the coming months we can regain control of the greed that has spiraled unchecked for too long. Here’s to 2009, which I hope will unite us in the common goals we need to get back on track economically and as a shining civic society.

Driving through the countryside as the floodwaters in the midwest begin to recede you may find some unusual things in odd places…An old chair in the middle of a field, or a piano stool lying beside the road. That doesn’t even address the mountains of stuff bearing their watermarked scars waiting to be hauled off to the landfill.

Something else that has begun to reveal itself is a Rural Renaissance of sorts. My business partner, Joan Sorenson and I have both returned to our hometown of Jefferson, Iowa after several years in larger cities on the West Coast and in the Southwest. After years of traveling, commutes and strings of meetings, we both knew we wanted a change. 

We were introduced several years ago by our moms, who were part of that wonderful generation who got together for morning coffee with their friends on a regular basis. People don’t seem to have time for many of those niceties anymore, but frankly, I think we should make the time. I know personally, I am much better after coffee, and even more so after an earnest discussion with a girlfriend or two. What Joan and I soon discovered was that we had a couple of common threads that would forever weave us together in that crazy quilt tapestry of life. (While scrubbing toilets is definitely something neither of us enjoy, that wasn’t the big life-altering thread. Although I think if the rest of my family had to scrub toilets a little more frequently it just might be life altering for my houseful of boys.) No, what Joan and I share is an eye for potential and a passion for our hometown.

My paternal grandmother, Lucy Wolfe, owned a ladies ready-to-wear shop on the west side of the Square in in our hometown in 1911, a time when not many women were business owners. If women in business today think they’ve got it rough, I’m sure Grandma Lucy could give them a new perspective on what tough is. Her shop, the Bon Ton, operated in that same building for 60 years, with my dad, Jerry, taking the helm in the 50’s.

Similarly, Joan’s grandfather, who she most affectionately calls Daddy Newt (Seela), owned the hardware store on the corner of same block for several decades. A unique twist to this part of the story, is that Joan’s dad, Bill Sorenson, began making trampolines in the basement of his father-in-law’s store. That entrepreneurial side venture eventually grew into American Athletic, now owned by Spalding, which provides athletic equipment to the NBA, the NFL and the Olympics. Talk about VISION!!!

Joan’s mom also had her own travel agency for 30 years, and my mom’s parents and grandparents both had shops in Lake City. So as you can clearly see, Joan and I couldn’t help but wind up with a shop of our own. We put our entrepreneurial genes to work last year and have been creating unique repurposed items from cast off materials. With offers from shops in other cities to  sell their merchandise, we knew we were on to something. So we took that proverbial leap of faith and opened our shop, JUNCK, on the square in Jefferson in mid June, in what appropriately enough used to be the Gambles store. While our small rural town may not have as much foot traffic and hype as some of the places we had offers from, we know we are in the right place. Joan often refers to our unique mix of vintage and repurposed furniture and art, as “doing our part to keep Greene County green.”

One of the best surprises has been the wealth of artisans we have discovered. From day one we have had people stop in who reveal a creative side you would never expect. We have discovered a plumber who blows glass, a nursing assistant who hand carves wood, a high school student who welds, a grounds keeper whose passion is for blacksmithing with an 1803 forge (we have a couple of his pieces in the shop),  and more. One of the things we’ve always wanted to do, was to help our community grow, and by supporting people that conventional economic development overlooks, we can help to establish a creative culture in a rural community like Jefferson, which only strengthens the overall economy.

We are also developing some unique items, like our line of JUNCKyard Dogs, made from recycled sweaters and other fabrics, whose proceeds will benefit PAWS the local animal shelter. Power Cords, and accessories and jewelry made from reclaimed bike parts and more. While we are also excited about recent talks with a firm in Minneapolis regarding the distribution of some of our items, the best part about our new venture is looking forward to going to work everyday. Starting a business is never easy, or a sure thing, but we are having the best time doing what we’re doing! With signs from Seela Hardware and vintage photos scattered throughout the place taken of Jefferson in its heyday, we are certainly enjoying the challenge.