skirt january 2015
DESCRIPTION
The Kick Start IssueTRANSCRIPT
Augusta, Aiken & Evans
“And now we welcome the new year. Full of things that have never been.”
Rainer Maria Rilke
A new year brings a fresh start, a blank
slate, a beginning, a chance to write your
beautiful story all over again. Out with
the old, in with the new. Throw out the
resolutions and count the blessings instead.
Wish for more. More love, more light, more
harmony, more peace. This is the year to
stop saying “maybe” and say “yes” to all the
potential good the world sends your way.
Choose your own theme for the year: Peace.
Love. Wonder. Miracles. Choose a new mot-
to: Right now is more important than later.
Choose a new mantra. C’est à moi! (It’s my
turn!) Look forward instead of back. Stop
focusing on failures and love the life lessons
they give us. Ring out the losses, the setbacks,
the obstacles, the stumbles and the falls.
Ring in the the wins, the happy moments,
the adoration, the fortune, the charmed life.
Reserve judgment. Make positivity go viral.
Hand out compliments like you’re getting
paid to do it. Receive them graciously. Buy
that pricey pair of heels you’ve had your eye
on forever, call them your happy shoes, and
wear them until they go from broken in to
broken down. There’s another pair waiting
right around the corner. Kick up those heels
like you don’t have a care in the world and
toast to a carefree 2015!
january/february
f r e e
E s c a p e t h e o r d i n a r y .
®
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 3
4 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Features
Spinsters Rock Jeanette Bouchie ................................8
Write Now Dean Lofton .........................................9
The Reluctant Cook Ananya Bhattacharyya .................... 18
In Every Issue
Letter from the Editor .....................4
He’s So Original ...............................25
Skirt of the Month ...........................29
Product ...............................................13
Meet ....................................................26
I’ve found this time of year can be overwhelming with potential, or just plain over-
whelming. If I’m feeling positive, the next 365 days all in a long, uninterrupted stretch
are thrilling and inspiring. If I’m not, it just reminds me that another year has arrived
and I still don’t feel like a pro at life. The women in this issue have a comforting
message for those of us who have goals, but don’t quite know how to proceed. Liz
flodstrom started her PrettySweetLife blog even though she didn’t “know how.”
Alison Smith took a leap and opened her own retail store. Lisa Hill picked up and
moved across the country to start a new business closer to family. The end results
they have today are because they took that first beginning step. As this year pres-
ents itself, let’s focus on the positive ways we can chip away at our own goals, no
matter how small the steps may seem.
Gracie Shepherd
SKIRT! THIS MONTH
Like to see your ad in skirt! Magazine? 706.823.3702
january2015
Cover Art: If you’re an artist
and would like to submit your work, please send
a link or low res artwork to [email protected].
The Kick Start Issue
The way to get started
is to quit talking and begin
doing.”Walt Disney
FounderNikki Hardin
Creative Director Caitilin McPhillips
Market ManagerKate Cooper Metts
Contributing Editor Gracie Shepherd
Sales DirectorLisa Dorn
Sales ExecutivesDoressa Hawes
Lisa Taylor [email protected]
Maidi McMurtrie Thompson [email protected]
Mary Porter Vann [email protected]
CirculationJessica Seigler
PhotographySara Caldwell
AdvertisingSales: 706.823.3702
Fax: 706.823.6061 1.800.622.6358
skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout
the greater Augusta, Aiken & Evans area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse to sell space for
any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the publication.
All content of this magazine, including without limitation the
design, advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and
arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2014, Morris Publishing Group,
LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied or
reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher.
SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 5
6 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
www.skirt.com december 2014 7
8 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 9
10 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Pho
to b
y J.
M. S
ulliv
an
Liz Flodstrom | Pretty Sweet Life
Through her blog PrettySweetLife, Liz shares her sense of style and zest for living with her readers. Whether it’s modeling a fun outfit or review-
ing beauty products, her blog is like that cool friend who doesn’t mind you asking where she got that coat or what moisturizer she swears by.
“It’s my girly outlet,” she says. Liz started the blog about five years ago, just as a creative outlet for herself. “I didn’t really know what to do with
it when I first started, it was just for fun.” Her readership steadily grew, and now she works with brands and artists to review items and host
giveaways. As she’s learned the ropes, connecting with fellow bloggers through the Southern Blog Society has encouraged her to venture farther
out of her comfort zone. If there’s anything Liz could tell herself five years ago or other aspiring bloggers, it’s pretty simple. “Have confidence
in yourself and just go for it.”
january2015
12 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Over-The-Calf Peddies socksEquine Divine
126 Laurens Street SWAiken
803.642.9772
Curry in a Hurry trail mixWatanut
1118 Jones StreetAugusta
855.928.2688
Healthy Me!
S’Well water bottleSOHO
435 Highland AvenueAugusta
706.738-6884
Our new favorite tech-savvy way to change up our workouts: The Jump Rope
Workout app is like a pedometer for jumping rope. It attaches to thigh, waist, or arm and accurately measures rope jumps
(with or without rope!). You can share results on social media (or not), but it’s fun to keep track of your progress either way.
Free for iOS in the iTunes store.
january2015
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 13
14 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Emma Watson—for her speech
advocating for gender equality at
UN headquarters.
Roger Federer—for
holding the #2 spot in men’s
tennis worldwide and still
modeling for Rolex...and us.
Diem Brown—for allowing her
courageous cancer battle into
the public eye.
Robin Williams—for too many
roles to list here that we’ll never
forget. Goodnight, Genie.
Joan Rivers—for giving us
laugh after laugh.
Maya Anjelou—for her legacy of
wisdom and �ght for civil rights.
Jamie Anderson—for snow-
boarding her way to a gold
medal at the Sochi Olympics.
Sheryl Sandburg—for being the
face of gender equality in the
workplace.
Zoe Sugg—at 24, on track to
becoming the most successful
British writer since J.K. Rowling.
Diana Nyad—for swimming the
110-mile distance from Cuba
to Florida at age 64, her �fth
attempt.
good
bye
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 15
(A. A. Milne)
hello
A month free of mandatory socialization.
A windowsill full of paperwhites.
A brand new day planner (we still love handwritten lists).
The NY Times Sunday Style section.
Breakfast in bed. Breakfast for dinner. Breakfast.
Letting go of the old and inviting the new.
Not waiting for sleep to dream.
Finding things we thought we’d lost.
Tomorrow being a blank page.
Poor memories and clear consciences.
(A. A. Milne)
hello
A month free of mandatory socialization.
A windowsill full of paperwhites.
A brand new day planner (we still love handwritten lists).
The NY Times Sunday Style section.
Breakfast in bed. Breakfast for dinner. Breakfast.
Letting go of the old and inviting the new.
Not waiting for sleep to dream.
Finding things we thought we’d lost.
Tomorrow being a blank page.
Poor memories and clear consciences.
16 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Start your New year at
Single Salon or Spa service with this ad.
3637 walton way ext | 706 481 9301 www.aquasalonaugusta.com
15 % off Now offering Novalash eyelash extentions
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 17
hen people come over for a meal, I often catch myself apologizing preemptively for the food I’m about to serve. If and when guests praise the food on their own, I �nd it hard to believe they aren’t simply being polite. My cousin once told me that I should stop behaving in this strange manner. Why not handle the situation with calm grace, her expression implied.
I came to the United States from India on a spouse visa, and we ate Subway sandwiches for dinner the �rst night. Then, once groceries were done the next day, I realized the man I had married expected me to start cooking. This was a role I had somehow failed to envi-sion for myself. I remember making choco-late fudge by following the recipe on the label of the Nestle condensed milk can very exactingly as a teenager, but that is as far as my actual cooking expe-riences went. Prior to my marriage, I worked as a journalist in Mumbai, where I ate meals cooked by men from Kerala at the working women’s hostel I lived in, or else at restaurants offering wholesome yet cheap South Indian meals.
The privileges of Indian middle class existence—where cooks and maids are affordable, and food is relatively cheap—combined with my belief that I was a feminist (and the one feminist act I had under-taken was to not change my last name upon marrying), meant that household tasks held no appeal for me. Simo-ne de Beauvoir says: “Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.” And that feeling fully resonated with me.
t bothered me that the man I had married didn’t understand that being thrust into the role of housewife—after having lived a carefree, indepen-dent life—was a struggle for me. He too must have resented me for not being more like his mother, who seemed to enjoy what I couldn’t: cooking,
feeding her family, and eating. This is not to say our mar-riage broke down immediately because of this. We must have had an argument or two, after which I realized that since I couldn’t work because of my visa situation, it was only logical for me to be doing the housework. So I did it. But I didn’t enjoy it, and resentment, all the more potent for being unexpressed, simmered within me.
WMy husband taught me how to make a few dishes, and I
rotated them through the week, cooking every other day. Indian cooking is labor-intensive—one must chop onions, fry spices, and simmer curries—which requires involvement and passion. For me, doing the same thing over and over again, week after week, was like Chinese water torture. And any experimentation or adventure I ever undertook in order to make the process interesting was unacceptable to him. I couldn’t have gotten away with cooking pasta, for instance.
t is to be expected perhaps that when someone doesn’t enjoy an activity and feels coerced, the re-sult will not be great. And the fact that my husband didn’t believe in positive reinforcement made things worse. Sometimes he would cook huge meals over the weekend so that he could eat good food ev-
ery once in a while, he said. When people came over, I would get everything ready for him, and he would heat up pans and throw ingredients together with �ourish. As guests ate and praised the food, he would acknowledge that he had made the meal. The guests would call me lucky, for marrying a rare entity: an Indian guy who cooked. I attempted to try to think the same thing, but there was one obstacle: food wasn’t the center of my existence.
While my passion was in the intellectual realm—books and �lms—my husband’s family was all about food. When my in
laws visited, trips would be made to the Bangladeshi store to buy frozen Hilsa �sh, which would then
be elaborately cleaned, scales �ying in every direction. Tiger prawns were brought from
Costco and simmered in coconut curry. Ducks’ eggs would come from the Asian store, to be boiled, then made into a curry with tomato and onion. As one meal was being consumed, plans for the next meal were being carefully plotted. Since I was the non-insider, they insisted on regaling me with stories about restaurants they had been to and meals they had cooked,
again and again. I felt overwhelmed but kept my feelings to myself.
n retrospect, it is clear that we were a terrible match. While ours wasn’t an arranged mar-riage, the culture of arranged marriages we had grown up in allowed us to think it was
a good idea to marry without really assessing our com-patibility. Phone calls, emails, and letters were the foundation
on which we expected to build a life-long relationship. While I knew others who had made similar hasty decisions and had ended up lucky, we certainly hadn’t.
We were together for seven years before our marriage end-ed. It ended because of other reasons. Yet, when I think about the marriage, what I remember most is cooking unhappily, for a man who complained about my cooking, even though by no means was I cooking all the time; I went to graduate school and began to work part-time.
After we separated, I continued to cook. By then I was a mother. Eating out all the time was neither affordable, nor healthy. So I’d create spartan creations, balancing all food groups; a typical meal might be: brown rice, sauteed black beans, steamed broccoli and eggs. Little wonder our once-a-week trip to Chipotle was so exciting.
The Reluctant CookAnanya Bhattacharyya
...I realized the man I had married
expected me to start cooking. This was a role
I had somehow failed to envision for myself.”
I
I
I
hen people come over for a meal, I often catch myself apologizing preemptively for the food I’m about to serve. If and when guests praise the food on their own, I �nd it hard to believe they aren’t simply being polite. My cousin once told me that I should stop behaving in this strange manner. Why not handle the situation with calm grace, her expression implied.
I came to the United States from India on a spouse visa, and we ate Subway sandwiches for dinner the �rst night. Then, once groceries were done the next day, I realized the man I had married expected me to start cooking. This was a role I had somehow failed to envi-sion for myself. I remember making choco-late fudge by following the recipe on the label of the Nestle condensed milk can very exactingly as a teenager, but that is as far as my actual cooking expe-riences went. Prior to my marriage, I worked as a journalist in Mumbai, where I ate meals cooked by men from Kerala at the working women’s hostel I lived in, or else at restaurants offering wholesome yet cheap South Indian meals.
The privileges of Indian middle class existence—where cooks and maids are affordable, and food is relatively cheap—combined with my belief that I was a feminist (and the one feminist act I had under-taken was to not change my last name upon marrying), meant that household tasks held no appeal for me. Simo-ne de Beauvoir says: “Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.” And that feeling fully resonated with me.
t bothered me that the man I had married didn’t understand that being thrust into the role of housewife—after having lived a carefree, indepen-dent life—was a struggle for me. He too must have resented me for not being more like his mother, who seemed to enjoy what I couldn’t: cooking,
feeding her family, and eating. This is not to say our mar-riage broke down immediately because of this. We must have had an argument or two, after which I realized that since I couldn’t work because of my visa situation, it was only logical for me to be doing the housework. So I did it. But I didn’t enjoy it, and resentment, all the more potent for being unexpressed, simmered within me.
WMy husband taught me how to make a few dishes, and I
rotated them through the week, cooking every other day. Indian cooking is labor-intensive—one must chop onions, fry spices, and simmer curries—which requires involvement and passion. For me, doing the same thing over and over again, week after week, was like Chinese water torture. And any experimentation or adventure I ever undertook in order to make the process interesting was unacceptable to him. I couldn’t have gotten away with cooking pasta, for instance.
t is to be expected perhaps that when someone doesn’t enjoy an activity and feels coerced, the re-sult will not be great. And the fact that my husband didn’t believe in positive reinforcement made things worse. Sometimes he would cook huge meals over the weekend so that he could eat good food ev-
ery once in a while, he said. When people came over, I would get everything ready for him, and he would heat up pans and throw ingredients together with �ourish. As guests ate and praised the food, he would acknowledge that he had made the meal. The guests would call me lucky, for marrying a rare entity: an Indian guy who cooked. I attempted to try to think the same thing, but there was one obstacle: food wasn’t the center of my existence.
While my passion was in the intellectual realm—books and �lms—my husband’s family was all about food. When my in
laws visited, trips would be made to the Bangladeshi store to buy frozen Hilsa �sh, which would then
be elaborately cleaned, scales �ying in every direction. Tiger prawns were brought from
Costco and simmered in coconut curry. Ducks’ eggs would come from the Asian store, to be boiled, then made into a curry with tomato and onion. As one meal was being consumed, plans for the next meal were being carefully plotted. Since I was the non-insider, they insisted on regaling me with stories about restaurants they had been to and meals they had cooked,
again and again. I felt overwhelmed but kept my feelings to myself.
n retrospect, it is clear that we were a terrible match. While ours wasn’t an arranged mar-riage, the culture of arranged marriages we had grown up in allowed us to think it was
a good idea to marry without really assessing our com-patibility. Phone calls, emails, and letters were the foundation
on which we expected to build a life-long relationship. While I knew others who had made similar hasty decisions and had ended up lucky, we certainly hadn’t.
We were together for seven years before our marriage end-ed. It ended because of other reasons. Yet, when I think about the marriage, what I remember most is cooking unhappily, for a man who complained about my cooking, even though by no means was I cooking all the time; I went to graduate school and began to work part-time.
After we separated, I continued to cook. By then I was a mother. Eating out all the time was neither affordable, nor healthy. So I’d create spartan creations, balancing all food groups; a typical meal might be: brown rice, sauteed black beans, steamed broccoli and eggs. Little wonder our once-a-week trip to Chipotle was so exciting.
The Reluctant CookAnanya Bhattacharyya
...I realized the man I had married
expected me to start cooking. This was a role
I had somehow failed to envision for myself.”
I
I
I
Ananya Bhattacharyya
(@AnanyaBhatt) is an
assignment editor at
the Washington Indepen-
dent Review of Books.
Her articles have
appeared in
The Guardian, The
New York Times,
The Baltimore Sun,
The Washingtonian,
and Northeast Review.
nd then, about a year ago, I heard my son refer to me in passing as a good cook. I stopped what I was doing. I made him repeat
himself. Apparently he hadn’t suddenly transformed into a sarcastic nine-year-old. He was being earnest. He actually believed I was a �ne cook. Ignorance is surely bliss, I thought, smiling.
However, as I contemplated his words, I came to realize that, indeed, a shift had taken place. First, after spending 14 years in the United States, I have come to appreciate the fact that housework is a necessary evil. America is egalitarian in some important ways. I came to realize that what had allowed me the sort of existence I had in India was systemic poverty and inequity. And my own attitude toward housework had been that of an entitled person’s.
Second, I have started experimenting in the kitchen. While the skillet shepherd’s pie, for instance, was a disaster (the meat at the bottom was burned, the potato slices at the top were uncooked), there have been other successful dishes: quinoa with peas and cashews, simmered in coconut milk; grilled salmon marinated in tequila lime seasoning; pasta with Gruyère and walnuts. I have a repertoire of eclectic dishes that taste pretty okay!
ne of my son’s friends came over for a play-date the other day, and I made Thai-style fried rice for lunch. The little boy asked for a second helping. As I served him, he said, “This is so good. I can eat this 24/7.” I laughed. And in that moment it felt as
though his over-the-top praise had yanked me out of the stew of culinary self-doubt, for good.
...when I think about the marriage,
what I remember most is cooking unhappily, for a man who
complained about my cooking.”
“ Ignorance is surely bliss,
I thought, smiling.”
A
O
18 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
hen people come over for a meal, I often catch myself apologizing preemptively for the food I’m about to serve. If and when guests praise the food on their own, I �nd it hard to believe they aren’t simply being polite. My cousin once told me that I should stop behaving in this strange manner. Why not handle the situation with calm grace, her expression implied.
I came to the United States from India on a spouse visa, and we ate Subway sandwiches for dinner the �rst night. Then, once groceries were done the next day, I realized the man I had married expected me to start cooking. This was a role I had somehow failed to envi-sion for myself. I remember making choco-late fudge by following the recipe on the label of the Nestle condensed milk can very exactingly as a teenager, but that is as far as my actual cooking expe-riences went. Prior to my marriage, I worked as a journalist in Mumbai, where I ate meals cooked by men from Kerala at the working women’s hostel I lived in, or else at restaurants offering wholesome yet cheap South Indian meals.
The privileges of Indian middle class existence—where cooks and maids are affordable, and food is relatively cheap—combined with my belief that I was a feminist (and the one feminist act I had under-taken was to not change my last name upon marrying), meant that household tasks held no appeal for me. Simo-ne de Beauvoir says: “Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.” And that feeling fully resonated with me.
t bothered me that the man I had married didn’t understand that being thrust into the role of housewife—after having lived a carefree, indepen-dent life—was a struggle for me. He too must have resented me for not being more like his mother, who seemed to enjoy what I couldn’t: cooking,
feeding her family, and eating. This is not to say our mar-riage broke down immediately because of this. We must have had an argument or two, after which I realized that since I couldn’t work because of my visa situation, it was only logical for me to be doing the housework. So I did it. But I didn’t enjoy it, and resentment, all the more potent for being unexpressed, simmered within me.
WMy husband taught me how to make a few dishes, and I
rotated them through the week, cooking every other day. Indian cooking is labor-intensive—one must chop onions, fry spices, and simmer curries—which requires involvement and passion. For me, doing the same thing over and over again, week after week, was like Chinese water torture. And any experimentation or adventure I ever undertook in order to make the process interesting was unacceptable to him. I couldn’t have gotten away with cooking pasta, for instance.
t is to be expected perhaps that when someone doesn’t enjoy an activity and feels coerced, the re-sult will not be great. And the fact that my husband didn’t believe in positive reinforcement made things worse. Sometimes he would cook huge meals over the weekend so that he could eat good food ev-
ery once in a while, he said. When people came over, I would get everything ready for him, and he would heat up pans and throw ingredients together with �ourish. As guests ate and praised the food, he would acknowledge that he had made the meal. The guests would call me lucky, for marrying a rare entity: an Indian guy who cooked. I attempted to try to think the same thing, but there was one obstacle: food wasn’t the center of my existence.
While my passion was in the intellectual realm—books and �lms—my husband’s family was all about food. When my in
laws visited, trips would be made to the Bangladeshi store to buy frozen Hilsa �sh, which would then
be elaborately cleaned, scales �ying in every direction. Tiger prawns were brought from
Costco and simmered in coconut curry. Ducks’ eggs would come from the Asian store, to be boiled, then made into a curry with tomato and onion. As one meal was being consumed, plans for the next meal were being carefully plotted. Since I was the non-insider, they insisted on regaling me with stories about restaurants they had been to and meals they had cooked,
again and again. I felt overwhelmed but kept my feelings to myself.
n retrospect, it is clear that we were a terrible match. While ours wasn’t an arranged mar-riage, the culture of arranged marriages we had grown up in allowed us to think it was
a good idea to marry without really assessing our com-patibility. Phone calls, emails, and letters were the foundation
on which we expected to build a life-long relationship. While I knew others who had made similar hasty decisions and had ended up lucky, we certainly hadn’t.
We were together for seven years before our marriage end-ed. It ended because of other reasons. Yet, when I think about the marriage, what I remember most is cooking unhappily, for a man who complained about my cooking, even though by no means was I cooking all the time; I went to graduate school and began to work part-time.
After we separated, I continued to cook. By then I was a mother. Eating out all the time was neither affordable, nor healthy. So I’d create spartan creations, balancing all food groups; a typical meal might be: brown rice, sauteed black beans, steamed broccoli and eggs. Little wonder our once-a-week trip to Chipotle was so exciting.
The Reluctant CookAnanya Bhattacharyya
...I realized the man I had married
expected me to start cooking. This was a role
I had somehow failed to envision for myself.”
I
I
IAnanya Bhattacharyya
(@AnanyaBhatt) is an
assignment editor at
the Washington Indepen-
dent Review of Books.
Her articles have
appeared in
The Guardian, The
New York Times,
The Baltimore Sun,
The Washingtonian,
and Northeast Review.
nd then, about a year ago, I heard my son refer to me in passing as a good cook. I stopped what I was doing. I made him repeat
himself. Apparently he hadn’t suddenly transformed into a sarcastic nine-year-old. He was being earnest. He actually believed I was a �ne cook. Ignorance is surely bliss, I thought, smiling.
However, as I contemplated his words, I came to realize that, indeed, a shift had taken place. First, after spending 14 years in the United States, I have come to appreciate the fact that housework is a necessary evil. America is egalitarian in some important ways. I came to realize that what had allowed me the sort of existence I had in India was systemic poverty and inequity. And my own attitude toward housework had been that of an entitled person’s.
Second, I have started experimenting in the kitchen. While the skillet shepherd’s pie, for instance, was a disaster (the meat at the bottom was burned, the potato slices at the top were uncooked), there have been other successful dishes: quinoa with peas and cashews, simmered in coconut milk; grilled salmon marinated in tequila lime seasoning; pasta with Gruyère and walnuts. I have a repertoire of eclectic dishes that taste pretty okay!
ne of my son’s friends came over for a play-date the other day, and I made Thai-style fried rice for lunch. The little boy asked for a second helping. As I served him, he said, “This is so good. I can eat this 24/7.” I laughed. And in that moment it felt as
though his over-the-top praise had yanked me out of the stew of culinary self-doubt, for good.
...when I think about the marriage,
what I remember most is cooking unhappily, for a man who
complained about my cooking.”
“ Ignorance is surely bliss,
I thought, smiling.”
A
O
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 19
We will not be making
homemade foot cream.
We will not be making
slow cooker hot chocolate.
We will not be taking
the 1000 squats in 20 days
challenge...Nor will be doing
the 3 moves that give our
ta-tas more va-va-voom.
We will not make time to
watch the the 25 super cute
hair tutorials and we would
never dream of making
bacon cheeseburger soup.
We will skip the make your
own bar cart instructions and
the tutorials for the 32 things
you must have for your child’s
bedroom. We just want them
to go to bed on time.
We’re not doing family meal
“projects” that involve more
than three ingredients.
dear
“Simplicity is the ultimate
sophistication.” Leonardo da Vinci
When you stop fighting things and just live, breathe and try your best
to treat people right, life just flows.
It’s that simple.”Dau Voire
48 january 2015 skirt!magazine
We won’t be making our own
ironic cardboard mounted deer
head, painting it, or hanging it on
our wall. We will not be learning
how to cut our own bangs at
home. We did it in high school
and it did not turn out well.
We love the inspiration that
we get from Pinterest and our
boards are full of “to-dos,” but
this year we’re giving ourselves
a little break from being perfect
at everything.
20 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
“We’re fantastic just as we are.”
“Simplicity is the ultimate
sophistication.” Leonardo da Vinci
When you stop fighting things and just live, breathe and try your best
to treat people right, life just flows.
It’s that simple.”Dau Voire
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 21
22 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Pho
to b
y J.
M. S
ulliv
an
She’s massaged athletes and celebrities in Miami’s South Beach and Laguna Niguel, California, but when Lisa found out she was going to be a
grandmother she picked up and moved to North Augusta. “I’m a baby groupie,” she says. A licensed massage therapist since 2001, Lisa was drawn
to the practice by curiosity initially but quickly found it to be something that fit her nurturing personality and that she was good at. “I became
a full-fledged believer in massage therapy,” she says. She opened North Augusta Massage Studio in 2013 with her daughter, best friend and busi-
ness partner, Brenna Mceowen, who has a background in spa management and administration. Their space on West Avenue exudes tranquility
and both women’s genuine care for their clients. Over the time the studio has been open, Lisa has built quite the list of loyal local customers.
“We just need to get them in here once and they’re hooked,” she says. “I think people can tell when someone really enjoys and is passionate
about what they do.”
janurary2015
Lisa Hill | South Beach to North Augusta
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 23
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Alison grew up working in her family’s business, Ladybugs flowers and Gifts, and now her daughters are helping her. She and her husband opened
Crickets Dry Goods in October, featuring clothing and gift items from local and regional artists and makers. “retail is in my blood,” she says.
Whether it’s a crowd favorite like Bird Dog Bay bowties or hand-forged jewelry by Beaufort artist Juli Mills, Alison has curated an impressive
array that includes something for everyone. “I just really want to support local, creative people,” she says. In the three months Crickets has been
open, Alison says she’s been blown away with the support she and her family have received from family, friends and perfect strangers. for an idea
that only started about a year ago, Crickets has flourished at a whirlwind pace. “It’s scary, but it’s mine,” Alison says with a smile.
janurary2015
Alison Smith | A Family Affair
24 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
He’s So Original | Matt Franklin | Makes History Come Alive
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Whether it’s dressing up like a hippie for Decades Day, showing his students music from each era they study or teaching by storytelling instead
of textbook reading, 4th grade social studies teacher Matt franklin makes certain there’s never a dull moment for his students at Belvedere
elementary School in North Augusta. “That’s how the kids really remember,” he says. Matt hails from Pittsburgh, but moved to North Augusta
more than 20 years ago and has taught at Belvedere elementary since 1991. Before teaching, he served in the U.S. Marine Corps and credits
that training with preparing him to roll with to whatever the school day brings. “In education, you have to be willing to adapt,” he says. “You just
never know what’s going to come out of a kid’s mouth.” In a community the size of North Augusta, Matt gets to see former students from time
to time and it makes his day when they tell him that his class had an effect on them, from choosing a career path or just an increased love of
history. “You never know what kind of an impact you’re having on a kid after they walk out of these doors,” he says.
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www.skirt.com january/february 2015 25
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Freely give, forget about the Joneses (why keep up with them anyway?), love
without limits and never stop learning.
jan
uar
y
Jessica Hayes MorrisDeputy Chief of Staff for
U.S. Congressman Jody Hice
six oF My FavoriTe THings:six words THaT describe Me:
1. Performer
2. sweets addict
3. reader
4. Friend
5. writer
6. Multi-Tasker
1. Hanging with my girls
2. exploring new restaurants
3. sleeping in
4. washington, d.c. & nyc
5. Piña coladas at the beach
6. a brand new book
2015
26 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
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Mon
key
Min
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esig
n. m
onke
ymin
desi
gn.e
tsy.
com
Caroline’s Boutique151 Laurens Street SWAiken803.644.5606
i dreamed i packed my skirt and my bikini and
headed to Miami for my much earned 76 degree day on
the beach.
WHEREWill Your Skirt
take younext?
www.skirt.com january/february 2015 29
january2015
See you in Febraury for the XOXO issue!
A N D S O M E N I C E P E R F U M EA N D E N D W I T H T H E K N OW L E D G E T H A T
30 january/february 2015 www.skirt.com
Har i son Memor i a l Go l f C l a ss i c
A Great Day f o r Go l f
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Har i son Memor i a l Go l f C l a ss i c
A Great Day f o r Go l f
58_62_AROUNDTOWN_JAN2015.indd 63 12/12/14 3:55:23 PM
Har i son Memor i a l Go l f C l a ss i c
A Great Day f o r Go l f
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