Volume 9 Issue 1 Kitchen Drawer Illustrated

The little magazine that DID

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Seven years ago, I approached Laurie Cochrane, the editor of a local magazine, with a story idea about a Toastmasters International World Champion of Public Speaking who lived in Griffin. The magazine, Kitchen Drawer, had attracted my attention with its creative, unique designs, its ability to find unusually interesting stories, and even the paper it was printed on. Most of all, I had been impressed by the superb writing and the overall quality of the magazine.

I felt a bit of trepidation when Laurie responded, “Sounds like a good idea. You wanna write it?” I accepted the writing assignment, which led to another, and then another. Within a couple of years, I was given the opportunity to be the editor of this publication. Though Laurie’s other obligations kept her from serving as editor-in-chief, she stayed with the magazine as a writer, proofreader, and sounding board for me.

In the almost five years I’ve served as editor of KD, I’ve had some amazing adventures— from behind-the-scenes tours of places like the Fox Theatre, Zac Brown’s Southern Ground headquarters, Atlanta Movie Tours, and Indian Springs, to enjoying delicious food at many fine establishments for the Restaurant Reviews. I’ve gotten to know so many people—immensely gifted artists, photographers, and others whose stories we’ve told. The KD staff members have all become friends of mine, and I’ve had the opportunity to work with some of the most talented writers I’ve known.

As we close the Kitchen Drawer volume, we have included a special section for our writers to say goodbye to our readers. I, personally, thank our readers, especially those who have read my more personal stories as my children have grown up, from “Where’s the Joy” in Volume 4, Issue 1 to “Home Alone” in Volume 8, Issue 2, and all the tales in between. I’ve been encouraged by the participation in our fiction contests—every year, dozens of writers have taken the time to enter our contest. Though space limited the number of winners we could publish, I’ve read each entry and appreciate the effort (and courage) it takes to share a story.

Every time a new issue arrived from the printer, it always gave me a little thrill to pull that first copy out of the box and see our work in print, no matter how many times I had looked at the magazine on my computer screen. Usually I’d pull my car over and thumb through the magazine before driving my distribution route. I also enjoyed being on the distribution team—it was always gratifying to have folks take the magazine out of my hands while I was restocking racks, and I appreciated the individual feedback as I delivered the newest issue of KD around town.

As I told the Rotary Club a few years back, I grew up in Griffin, and would scarcely have believed back then that I would eventually be editor of a high-quality magazine based right here. From its inception, KD has truly been a local magazine—our writers, designers, photographers, and artists all have a connection to the local area, and most live here.

I still believe that Kitchen Drawer has been an important contributor to positive changes in our area, as I wrote in my editor’s note in Volume 5, Issue 1. New businesses have opened in the past nine years, and many established businesses have continued to thrive.

We’ve told the stories of our area and have helped to draw local communities together through print magazines, our website, and an active social media presence.

Though we are closing the print magazine to begin some exciting new initiatives (Laurie Cochrane tells more about these on page 11), I challenge our area to keep the spirit of KD alive. Keep supporting local businesses, and keep on sharing our stories.

All the best,

A Tribute to Ron Alexander Staff Picks

(4)

Farewells from KD Writers

(5)

Remembering Mr. Joe

(8)

A Kitchen Drawer Retrospective

Six Simple Ways to Improve Your Health and Feel your Best (47) Freedman’s Finds

(50)

OUTDOORS: Winter Wonderland

(53)

Calendar Dogs

(55)

Fiction Winner: An Unlikely Friend

(14)

VENT

(56)

MOVIE REVIEW: Arrival

(18)

KD Cover Pictorial

(21)

Fiction Winner: Continue to Breathe

(59)

Kitchen Drawer Drops the Mic

(62)

Paparazzi

1

(11)

(41)

(23, 45)

Fiction Winner: GUIDE TO BHARATANATYAM

(26)

KITCHEN TABLE: Elizabeth Doss Orr

(30)

BIOGRAPHY: Takle Eye Group

(35)

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OUR “A SIMPLER TIME” YEARBOOK

ALLISON SMYLY

ASHLEY GREEN MCDANIEL

Editor, Dress-up Captain, Poet

MGMT, Friendship Bracelet Distributor, Care Bear Hugger

BEN JOHNSON

BRITTANY MICHELLE COBB

Publisher, Bicycle Junkyard Proprietor

JOSH MESSER

Account Manager, Space Cowboy Extraordinaire, Slimy Creature Catcher

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Graphic Designer, Executive Imaginateer, Crafts Coordinator

Our staff family!

See what we do now and what we did back then...

ISH HOLMES

Marketing & Media Associate, Ninja Turtle, Flirt

NICOLE PERRY

Art Director, Thief, Super Reader

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Farewells FROM

KD’s Writers ASHLEY CALLAHAN

To me, Kitchen Drawer will always be a great introduction to Griffin and the amazing people who live here. I’m grateful to the folks I’ve met and the stories they’ve allowed me to share. It’s been fun discovering our town’s best-kept secrets for myself and even telling a bit of my own story along the way. We live in a great community uniquely shaped by the people who choose to live and invest their time here, and Kitchen Drawer has been a reflection of this eclectic place I love to call home.

CLARK DOUGLAS I’m immensely grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to write for this fine publication over the course of the past few years. I sincerely thank the entire team for being so supportive and encouraging every step of the way. As Kitchen Drawer’s resident film critic, I’d like to conclude my time here by saying a few words about movies. A few years ago, I had a conversation with someone who told me that his favorite kinds of movies were the ones that “you don’t have to think about.” He said that when he went to see a movie, he wanted something that would entertain him for a couple of hours and that didn’t require too much thought. “I just want to escape for a little while,” he said.

The impulse is understandable. Movies can provide a valuable form of escape from the turbulent world we live in. However, I’ve found that the best movies help us understand the turbulent world we live in. At their absolute peak, movies are empathy machines of extraordinary power: they can help us step into another person’s shoes and see the world through their eyes. These movies often don’t get the big marketing campaigns that popcorn movies receive, so they can be easy to overlook. Seek them out. Listen to the stories that other people have to offer. Use these films as a gateway to cultures and subcultures you may not be familiar with. Let these films move, challenge, and inspire you. I could make a list that goes on forever, but since I’m out of space, I’ll limit my final recommendations to two films that came out this year: Moonlight and Embrace of the Serpent. See them and open your heart to them.You won’t regret it.

DREW TODD

Drew Payne

A few years ago, soon after moving to Griffin, I found myself in a jam. In that long-ago, quaint, pre-smartphone yore, a waiting room could be dreadful. Nowadays, because of progress and technology, time can be killed easily, either by crushing candy or tweeting…but back then, in the early 2000s, you needed foresight to combat boredom.

For me, because I took one each morning, a newspaper usually did the trick. But on this fateful day, I had left the house newspaperless, and arrived at my doctor’s appointment with nothing to do.

Scanning the waiting room upon arrival, I noticed a few copies of Kitchen Drawer, a publication with which I was unfamiliar.As a Griffin newcomer, those first few articles were my introduction to the cool, quirky side of Griffin.

Fast forward a few years: Drew Payne and I were discussing Griffin’s abundance of historic properties and the need to get some eyeballs on them. Kitchen Drawer agreed to put our words in print, and by doing so helped spark a spirit of preservation in Griffin. Since Kitchen Drawer began publishing these articles, a number of private homes have been saved in Spalding County, and Griffin’s historic City Hall and Rosenwald School (Fairmont High School) are slated to be renovated in the near future. Thank you, Kitchen Drawer, for highlighting these types of projects and initiatives that make Griffin such a great place to live and work.

LAURIE COCHRANE I’m immensely gratified to see how far Kitchen Drawer has come from where we started. When I began as editor, I was also writing a great deal of the content (incognito), so I was tremendously grateful to find a couple of dependable feature writers, Allison Smyly and Rachel Scoggins, who would willingly tackle ANY topic assigned. And Amanda Cera’s brilliant pieces of fiction were an invaluable gift to the fledgling magazine. Less than a decade later, KD has dozens of entries for our fiction contests alone!

Many of the stories I’ve been entrusted with have stuck with me—particularly those stories of strength and survival—Marvin Jenkins’ story of surviving in a WWII foxhole (1:1), Phyllis Wilcox’s story of surviving rape (1:4), Samantha Heard’s story of battling self-injury (3:2), young Asher Lee’s challenges of living with Apert syndrome (1:3). I’ve also been educated on thorny, controversial issues like medical marijuana, home birth, and the legal roadblocks faced by small farmers.

To our diverse readership—thank you for your enthusiastic support over the years. Keep meeting new neighbors, buying local, helping each other, and telling your stories. Let’s keep this going.

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PETE CHAGNON

Like many of you, I was shocked to find out that this would be the final publication of the Kitchen Drawer magazine. Thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of the community! My journey to Griffin took many twists and turns—starting in Vermont, then to Florida, Maryland, Mississippi, and finally Georgia. Along the way, my wife and I were able to experience many different cultural aspects of the USA, but we’ve never felt as much at home as we do here in Georgia.

The first time I picked up a copy of the Kitchen Drawer, the quality of the artwork, writers, and all the folks involved in bringing each edition to press impressed me! It was an honor to be included in such a quality publication. It was also my pleasure to be able to meet so many interesting people in the community and to help share their stories. Although the KD magazine outlet for these stories is closing, I look forward to meeting many more in the community and sharing your stories on the radio at 90.7, 91.7 NewLife FM. In the famous words of Charles Osgood—I’ll see you on the radio!

RACHEL SCOGGINS

I am so disappointed this is going to be our last issue. Writing for the Kitchen Drawer has been such a wonderful experience for me, and I’m going to miss it very much! I’m thankful I’ve gotten a chance to be a part of this magazine and work with wonderful people like Allison Smyly and Laurie Cochrane.

One day, I saw a billboard for the magazine on 19-41 and promptly submitted a story about covered bridges and graveyards, which became my first official article for the magazine. Since then, I’ve covered a variety of topics, from learning to make cheese, to running a BBQ restaurant, to training service dogs and restoring classic cars. I’ve talked to local artists and musicians, and I’ve met and interviewed an array of fascinating people from our community I’d never have met otherwise.

Being a writer for the Kitchen Drawer has helped me connect with Griffin and the community in a way I never had before, and probably never will again. Thank you for reading my articles and the rest of the magazine for the last several years, because I have definitely enjoyed sharing pieces of our local area with our readers!

RONNIE GARRISON

For the past several years I have enjoyed sharing some of my outdoor experiences with you. I especially appreciate the feedback, both from the folks who told me they enjoyed my articles and from those who told me I didn’t know what I was talking about! You have made me think about my love of the outdoors and examine my attitudes toward it. Thank you!

STAN DEATON

Thanks to the team for allowing me to participate in the magazine and be part of something special, and thank you for allowing me to share my love and passion for history with a wider audience.

TAYLOR GANTT

When you’re first starting out as a writer, all you can ask for is a chance for people to see your work. Whether it be poetry, prose, reporting, or opinions, the goal is to put your work in front of interested people. It doesn’t matter if only a handful of readers initially see your work. It’s all about taking that first plunge and putting yourself out there for people to see.

Kitchen Drawer gave me that precious chance to put my literary foot forward for the first time.

I’ve been contributing since I was a junior in high school and now, at 25, it’s finally time to say goodbye. I’ll always be indebted to the people who encouraged me to publish that first Atlanta Braves article nearly eight years ago. My editors, Laurie and Allison, Nicole’s amazing eye for art design, and everyone else on the staff made Kitchen Drawer a wholly unique publication.

I want to thank everyone who enjoyed (or merely tolerated) the sports section of this magazine over the years. And I wish everyone who helped put this beautiful thing together, month after month, the best of wishes in the future.

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Remembering Mr. Joe

It is fitting that we honor Mr. Joe Harrell in our final issue, since his interest in preserving our area’s history was a major inspiration for the creation of Kitchen Drawer magazine.

The idea for KD originated in 2007 when our publisher Ben Johnson was looking through a local coupon paper with a few vintage Boy Scout photos in it. On Ben’s desk was a stack of information pamphlets about Chief McIntosh that Joe had been distributing to raise awareness of the McIntosh Trail and local history. It occurred to Ben that our area needed a living record of local history so that those who knew these stories would have a forum for sharing them with others.

Mr. Joe contributed in many ways over the years, from helping us research articles to bringing us vintage photographs, archival materials, and story ideas.

Joseph Wilborn Harrell had a tremendous impact on our local area and on those whose lives he touched. His love for local history and respect for landmarks, relics, and cultural sites drew him around Griffin and surrounding areas, and everywhere he went he rallied others to help preserve connections to the past.

Notably, Mr. Joe led efforts to clean, repair, and protect the gravestones and markers in the older sections of Oak Hill Cemetery. Some of the monuments were only dirty with red clay, but many others had been broken or overturned. Others were shifted by tree roots and leaning with age. Joe and a recruited group of citizens called the Oak Hill Cemetery Preservers righted headstones, reconstructed markers, and uprooted plants that were encroaching on the monuments. In all, Mr. Harrell and the Oak Hill Cemetery Preservers refurbished more than 300 neglected headstones and monuments.

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Though he was tirelessly devoted to our area, Joe was originally from Burgaw, North Carolina. Born in 1923, he was one of six boys and three girls born to Jacob and Rebecca Harrell. Four of these six boys, including Joe, served in the military during World War II. Joe’s memoirs tell of his early years:

“

My father, a merchant, had lost his health and wealth in the Great Depression. We wore hand-me-downs, but always had plenty to eat. As a teenager, I farmed, milked cows, delivered coal, hauled sand and fertilizer, and delivered produce to Washington, Baltimore, and New York. I knew I would make a living but had neither hope nor expectation of enjoying the finer things in life.”

After attending North Carolina State for two years on $1,250 borrowed at no interest from family friend Wilborn Davis, Joe joined the Navy in 1942. After boot camp, he attended V-12 school at Emory. While riding a streetcar in Atlanta, he met his future wife, Annie Laura Dupree, wearing her Red Cross uniform as she was coming home from volunteer work at Crawford Long Hospital.

Joe graduated from the U.S. Navy Midshipman’s school at Columbia University in New York, took amphibious training in Little Creek, Virginia, and was assigned to the Navy’s Landing Ship Tank (LST) 959 as a first lieutenant. From Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, his LST went through the Panama Canal, then took a zigzag course to Pearl Harbor and tied up to the hulk of the capsized U.S.S. Arizona. Joe’s military service led him to places such as the Johnston Islands, Guam, Saipan, and Tinian. His memoirs also tell a firsthand account of the war in Japan:

“

Landed a part of a P-51 fighter group on Iwo Jima. Here we also picked up B-29 crews that bailed out of disabled bombers returning from raids over Japan. Our ship’s propellers got tangled in anti-submarine nets. I went down below the ship in a diving suit to free the propellers. We were offloading ammo and gasoline at Ie Shima when a Japanese fighter bombed our ship, seriously wounding the captain. We were so close to other LST’s on the beach that we couldn’t return fire. An army single 40mm gun on the beach near our bow shot down one plane that crashed near our stern…

Shortly after leaving Ie Shima we steamed near battleships and cruisers shelling Okinawa…We were in one storm so severe that tides and waves stranded some ships on high ground at one end of Okinawa. We rode out this storm at sea. We anchored close to the U.S.S. Pennsylvania, which had been so damaged that waves were washing over its stern.”

After World War II ended, aboard the U.S.S. Anne Arundel, Joe traveled to Tsingtao, China; the Philippines; French Indochina; Chinwangtao, China; and Nagoya, Japan. Mr. Joe recounts the journey back to the States:

“

We steamed through very rough seas and arrived in Seattle December 18. Every soldier and sailor was truly elated to be back

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in the States…After several days in port we steamed through the Panama Canal, headed for Brooklyn Navy Yard. This was my second trip through the canal.

On March 5, 1946, we said our goodbyes at a ship’s party at the Hotel Savoy Plaza in New York.”

After his military service, Joe returned to Atlanta and married his beloved Annie Laura Dupree on March 30, 1946. He worked as a draftsman for Southern Bell, in sales with Willingham-Little Stone Company, then 26 years in potash sales with Amax. The Harrells lived in Atlanta until they retired in the late 1970s, when they built their third home on their 157acre cattle farm in Griffin. Joe wrote, “We were determined not to fail. We borrowed money for our first home—after that, we waited until we could pay for what we wanted.”

In 1996, the Harrells donated their home and farm to the WinShape Foundation, an organization that provides foster homes for children in need, among other charitable endeavors. Mr. Joe wrote, “We are proud to give our 157-acre cattle farm to WinShape, where a beautiful home for 12 children now stands.” Hailey Tibbits, who works for the foster parents who live in the home, says, “Mr. Harrell was very much like a grandfather to the children who have grown up in this home. He was there for every event from Christmas to Thanksgiving to birthdays.”

The Harrells supported many worthwhile organizations, including Stepping Stones, Roosevelt Warm Springs, and Ducks Unlimited. In addition to their work with local cemeteries, Mr. Joe’s memoirs describe other important projects undertaken by the Oak Hill Cemetery Preservers:

“

We prevailed in getting the Lamp of Freedom lit after several years of darkness. This small group also got the Christian Women’s Temperance Union

fountain moved and water connected.

For several years, we worked to preserve Camp Stephens and were successful in getting the county to take over this historic civil war site as a park.”

Many local artifacts donated by Mr. Joe are now on display in the Griffin Welcome Center, and heart pine benches he and a few of his friends reclaimed from Griffin’s old mills are in the Whiskey Bonding Barn in Pike County, on the UGA Griffin campus, and in the Welcome Centers in Griffin and Pike.

Joe was more than a keeper of local history; he actively worked to make sure it would not fade from memory.

He worked hard on his projects, but he was always happy to share the credit.

He made many friends, and if something needed to happen, he rallied others to accomplish the goal. We will remember Joe Harrell for his courageous service to our country; his love for people, particularly those in need; and his deep dedication to the community and preserving its history. !

Acknowledgements: Paul Hitchcock and Hailey Tibbitts

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By Laurie Cochrane

K

itchen Drawer Illustrated, like most successful ventures, was born out of frustration with the status quo. Jenni Tatum was frustrated that there wasn’t a single source where she could find local events and businesses that interested her and her family.

“Mr. Joe” Harrell was frustrated that there wasn’t a place that would chronicle Griffin’s rich history. Others were frustrated that there was no outlet for the stories of most of Griffin’s diverse population. As these people approached Ben Johnson, the idea emerged for a “little magazine that could” do all of these things.

Ben and Jenni enlisted the help of Chad Baker who came up with the name “Kitchen Drawer” to evoke the place where we keep all our stuff. Then Shannon Lake gave the magazine its distinctive “steampunk” look. And when Shannon called to say that Jenni and Ben were starting a magazine and needed an editor, I was all in.

From a business perspective, starting a print magazine in a recession, when far more established magazines were cutting back or going out of business, didn’t seem to make a lot of sense. But we had a core of doggedly determined folks on a mission to create something “a little bit different” and promote our community in new ways. So, Ben, Jenni, Shannon, Ashley McDaniel, Nicole Perry, and Michelle Cobb – along with talented artists like Bobby Wheaton, Andrew Patrick Henry, and Sam Granger; and dedicated writers like Allison Smyly (now KD’s editor), Rachel Scoggins, Ronnie Garriso n, and Taylor Gantt, who all stuck with us from Vol. 1, Issue 1 – pulled together to make KD “the little magazine that could.”

Along the way, charities and artists got promoted, dogs got adopte d, history got preserved, and everyday heroes got acknowledged. And, in the course of staying true to our mission of doing good things for our community, financial success followed. “We’re listening” was one of our taglines, and we spent eight years listening and retellin g the stories and challenges of local residents and business owners .

“Entrepreneur Focus,” for example, was an important core feature from the very first issue. We knew we wanted to tell the stories of other local entrepreneurs – partly because we understood firsthand the strugg le of a few determined folks who are willing to do whatever it takes to work through the growing pains.

We knew what it was to work hard with the only compensation being satisfaction of a job well done and hoping to break even – in KD’s case, with ad sales that just covered the cost of printing. We reminisce about the early days, when production of a new issue meant a grueling 36- to 48-hour, sleepless marathon. Eight years later, production, while still a lot of work, became a comparative breeze under Nicole Perry’s art direction and Allison Smyly’s editorship.

I’m proud of the fact that KD has always been offered “Free to a Good Home,” and we couldn’t have done that without a stalwart group of advertisers who took a chance on a fledgling publication to tell their stories. To the local salons, restaurants, insurance agents, realtor s, gyms, funeral homes, contractors, and other professionals who believed in KD’s ability to create value for their businesses, we offer our deepest thanks.

But now KD, at the top of its game, is going into retirement. We’re sad to see it go, but we’re putting the bench strength that we’ve built over these eight years to good use. All the listening we’ve done has honed our abilities to tell stories that reach people. And a new endeavor, Kitchen Sink Marketing, has grown organically from those streng ths.

Everyone loves a good story. So when a business can find a way to reach potential clientele with a compelling story of why they do what they do, and how they can help, people listen and connect. That’s what Kitchen Sink Marketing is doing for our clients, and it’s a way we’re able to very tangibly boost the prosperity and attractiveness of our comm unity. We also find that it comes quite naturally because, as it turns out, that’s what we’ve been doing all along.

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2017 Fiction Contest Winner

In July, we announced our third fiction contest. Out of dozens of entries, we selected the following winners. Read the winning stories in this final issue of Kitchen Drawer.

“AN UNLIKELY FRIEND” BY TIFFANI LONG “GUIDE TO BHARATANATYAM” BY NAMRATA VERGHESE “CONTINUE TO BREATHE” BY KATELYN SCHNEIDER

AN UNLIKELY FRIEND BY TIFFANI LONG

S

huffle. Shuffle. Pause. Mr. Brigdon walks down the wide park path, corduroy sport coat draped over his arm despite the warmer temperature today. Sunbeams are just barely grazing his shoulder like an almost-missed kiss. I’m sure Mrs. Brigdon’s voice is ringing in his untrimmed hairy ear, “Henry, don’t forget your jacket, now, you never know when you might need it.” Other park patrons run and walk past him as he makes his way toward me. Finally, he sits with a heavy sigh, like he’s needed to exhale for hours. Lifting his face to the trees, he quietly speaks. “Sure do miss you, Edith…I made it to my appointment on time and Doc says everything is still tick-tockin’…told him I wasn’t sure how it was even beatin’ without you here.” Mr. Brigdon places his arm on my back as if Edith might actually be snuggled up beside him—just as she was every Monday for the many years they came here together. I’m glad he takes a minute to remem-

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ber how she fit perfectly in the crook of his arm as they watched their own children, then later their grandchildren, grow and play. He mumbles a few more things I can barely understand and just sits with me a while longer. Then, he rocks once, twice, before he’s finally up on his feet and shuffles off until next week.

“Welcome to the weekly Greenwood Park Dog Club meeting!” Max shouts as he greets his charges. Furries of all shapes and sizes come out for their Tuesday romp at the park. Max has been training, teaching, and caring for dogs for years, and he trusts me to be a part of the club each week by holding leashes taut while he works with each dog and its owner. I love it when they jump up for kisses and wag their tails with joy at seeing me again. I feel very important, which helps me face Wednesday and Thursday.

These are my least favorite days of the week, and it’s all because Danny Jo, the park ice-

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cream vendor, has an after-school deal—buy one scoop, get another free. This brings out all the littles and bigs and in-betweens to form a crooked line and wait, bouncing with anticipation for their turn to choose one of the many flavors offered at the window. I watch with dread because I know what’s coming. Grabbing their cones, already dripping and causing their little fingers to be webbed together, they run toward me. I brace myself as sticky-fingered filthies climb, touch, and spill their afternoon reward all over me. I stare at the moms with overpacked strollers standing by shouting, “Lick the sides, honey!” like it helps. Disgusting. I want to scream, “Lady, it’s going to take more than five of Danny Jo’s cheap paper napkins to handle this mess.”

But no one listens to me anyway.

That’s my job. So, I endure smelling and looking like a carnival until sundown. That’s when my old friend Sam from park maintenance walks through, collecting trash and spraying away the sticky. Now I’m ready for tomorrow.

Sarah and Joe met on Frisbee Friday just over there in the grass behind me. They were surrounded by full-of-energy friends all running around in stained college t-shirts and bare feet. Oh, to be young and carefree! Watching them, I saw how Joe stayed close to Sarah, “accidentally” bumping into her as if she didn’t have a clue. I’ve watched young folks around here for years, and even my friend an acre

15

across the park could see what he was up to! They eventually broke away from their group and walked over to sit with me. I was buzzing as the hope and anticipation of new love seeped from their sweaty skin onto me.

“So, you’re finished this semester, right? And I hear you’re joining the military,” Sarah said.

“Yes! Feels so good to finally be done with school, but because I’m joining, I’ve been offered a position with a great company here once I complete my training,” he replied.

“That’s amazing.” Sarah congratulated Joe, then continued, “I’ll be finished next semester and plan to work for Fitzgerald and Sons right here in the city.”

“I’d love to write you while I’m in boot camp and perhaps take you to dinner when I get home,” Joe offered.

I thought I might snap in half with the hope and tension Joe was oozing.

“I would love that!” Sarah smiled bashfully, her eyes brightening.

Joe leaned back and let out a sigh as big as the moon.

Want to know what great joy is?

When Sarah and Joe came back to me not only on their first date, but also when he proposed. Want to know what even greater joy is?

After catching Sarah’s tears almost every day for a year while Joe was deployed, watching them walk up, hand in hand, and sit with me again—that is the greatest joy! I’d

never wished for arms more than that at moment so I could wrap them around Joe and Sarah—and Sarah’s growing belly.

I can’t say my job is always holding people up. Sometimes it’s sheltering them. Like my buddy, Buddy. Well, that’s what I like to call him since I don’t know his name. He’s been sleeping under me since a couple of months ago, when his company tanked, family bailed, and all he had left was a weary soul and a filled-to-the-gills backpack. He sneaks in after park hours and leaves before dawn on weekend nights. He whisper-prays into the night air: “Maybe this week it will happen…let my kids know I love them…give me hope…give me a sign…keep Laura safe.” He fades out as he falls into a fidgety sleep, his body as restless as his heart and mind. The moon blankets us in its creamy light, and I silently repeat “I’ve got you, man” and promise to offer my protection to him until he no longer needs it.

Tomorrow, Monday will return and I’ll see my friends again.

Old ones. New ones. Furry ones.

And even sticky ones. It’s said that in the course of one week more than one hundred people will pause and sit on a park bench. I know because I’ve seen (and felt) them all.

I know why people choose me—a stable, silent partner. A companion.

A secret-keeper. A hard place to sit but a soft place to fall. They know I’m always here, always waiting— an unlikely friend.

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MOV IE RE V IE W

ARRIVAL

By Clark Douglas Without warning, 12 ominous-looking alien spacecraft appear at random locations around the globe. Government officials quickly learn that each ship contains two mysterious, otherworldly creatures, but no one knows why they’re here, what they want, or whether they pose any sort of threat. They “speak” using deep, rumbling tones that no one knows how to interpret, and they appear to be waiting patiently for humanity to make the next move. So, the U.S. government—currently tasked with dealing with a ship that has landed in Montana—asks esteemed linguist Louise Banks (Amy Adams, Junebug) for assistance.

This is a fairly standard sci-fi movie starting point, but what makes it feel strikingly different right off the top is that it’s accompanied by a feeling of deep loss. Before any of the alien stuff begins, director Denis Villeneuve offers a brief snapshot of the heartbreak Louise has experienced: we learn that she lost her daughter to a rare illness, and see brief but instantly affecting

flashes of the beauty and pain offered by that long journey. The emotions generated by this sequence (underscored by a warm Max Richter piece that contrasts sharply with Johann Johannsson’s effectively atmospheric score) seep into everything, and are enhanced by further flashbacks that appear along the way.

It takes a while for Arrival to reveal what it’s up to (and it doesn’t reveal what it’s really about until the closing moments), but it takes our uncertainty and bakes it into the mix. This is a slow, methodical movie, but never a dull one. It slows down during the moments when it knows we need time to contemplate, process, question, and feel. There’s something Close Encounters-esque in the way it all seems to be building toward some grand revelation, and in the way it manages to sustain a constant sense of both awe and tension. (That description might also apply to Midnight Special, 2016’s other great sci-fi movie.)

A large portion of the film focuses on the effort to find a way to communicate with the aliens. It’s not

much of a spoiler to say that Louise eventually makes a bit of progress, and the scenes in which she slowly begins to put the pieces of the alien language together are absorbing and persuasive: Villeneuve and Adams (delivering one of her richest performances) ensure that you feel the thrill of every “Eureka!” moment. Louise isn’t the only one working to communicate with the aliens, however, and the snippets of media chatter littered throughout the background of the film suggest that other countries are progressing at a similar pace.

what makes it feel strikingly different right off the top is that it’s accompanied by a feeling of deep loss.

Predictably, each country has its own unique feelings about how to approach the situation, and some are more aggressive than others. China constantly threatens that it’s fully prepared to launch an attack on the alien vessel—just a show of force to let them know who’s boss—and other countries begin to prepare for combat, just in case the actions of one country inspire the entire alien fleet to serve up violent retaliation across the globe. Essentially, there’s a dumber, louder sci-fi movie constantly rumbling beneath the surface of this smart, cerebral one, and Louise—working in collaboration with astrophysicist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner, The Hurt Locker)—is tasked with making the argument that the patience required to make progress is worth the risk.

Indeed, the notion that progress comes at a price is at the very heart of the film, though it ultimately becomes more nuanced and more personal than that. The concluding scenes more or less blindsided me with their raw emotional power, revealing the film’s heart so clearly that my chest began to ache. Like so many great works of science fiction, this tale ultimately connects us back to the world we currently live in. It reminds us that achieving genuine understanding is worth the effort, that fear should not dictate our actions, and that pain is inextricable from love. In other words, it tells us something we all need to hear right now.

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Chicken House

678.603.1064 20

a Brief Pictorial History of

Kitchen Drawer i l l us t r at e d

Cover Icon Legend KD’s Favorites (pfft, we love them all)

Special Edition – Wrap-Around Cover (nice!)

Perfect Bound Spine (more pages to love!)

KD Photo Contest Winner(s) on Cover

SlowExposures Winning Photo on Cover

Cover Submitted by a Local Artist

VOLUME 1 (2009-2010)

Apr/May ‘09

1.1

Only Issue to Span Two Year Dates

Jun/Jul ‘09

1.2

Aug/Sep ‘09

1.3

2.1

1.4

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1.5

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2.5

Current Logo Made its Debut on the Cover

VOLUME 2 (2010)

Mar/Apr

Oct/Nov ‘09

2.2

May/Jun

Jul/Aug

2.3

Sep/Oct

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VOLUME 3 (2011)

Jan/Feb

3.1

Mar/Apr

3.2

May/Jun

3.3

Jul/Aug

3.4

Sep/Oct

3.5

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3.6

VOLUME 4 (2012)

4.1 Vol 5 Issue 1

4.2

4.3

4.4

4.5

4.6

5.1

5.2

5.3

5.4

5.5

5.6

6.1

6.2

6.3

6.4

6.5

6.6

7.3

7.4

7.5

7.6

Free to a good home

VOLUME 6 (2014)

VOLUME 5 (2013)

Free to a good home

Vol 4 Issue 6

VOLUME 7 (2015)

7th Anniversary Throwback Cover

7.1

7.2

)

ME 9 (20 17 VOL U

KD Went Quarterly!

VOLUME 8 (2016)

Doc Holliday Commemorative Issue

Our Final Issue Vol. 9 No. 1

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ART! More info about

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Winter

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Volume 8 Issue 3

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23

ashley holmes and parents, A.c. & Rae, at the oskiade art show

kassie rivers, randle rivers and todd gardner settle in for liberty technology’s star wars screening

Spalding county community development christmas tree

jackson davis and kelsey cummins at the junior guild yuletide ball held aT the griffin country club

rescue diver bryan clanton backlit by natural light in devil’s den, florida

junior tennis at the club at shoal creek

The Goodsell clan ate real good on christmas!

Will, beth, and evie harrington on christmas eve

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2017 Fiction Contest Winner

In July, we announced our third fiction contest. Out of dozens of entries, we selected the following winners. Read the winning stories in this final issue of Kitchen Drawer.

“AN UNLIKELY FRIEND” BY TIFFANI LONG “GUIDE TO BHARATANATYAM” BY NAMRATA VERGHESE “CONTINUE TO BREATHE” BY KATELYN SCHNEIDER

GUIDE TO BHARATANATYAM STEP ONE: TATTA ADAVU (TAPPING) Tapping is first. Tapping is always first, from the first infinity to the last. Tapping is the crux of dance and dance is the crux of life. Learn to tap, your guru says, and everything else will follow.

That’s why the first thing you learn in dance class is how to count under your breath. “One, two, three…beat… one, two, three….” You have to say it out loud; your hot breath mingles with sweat and stale deodorant. If you don’t, numbers don’t form fully and rhythm eludes you. “One, two, three….” Soon, the numbers slip from your mouth easily and you know the count the way you know the words of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, although you haven’t yet learned how to read.

When your hand remembers the steps faster than you can, your guru pats your back for the first time. Although her figure has bloated with the years, she is a dancer herself. She pretends to wear her curves sensually and knows the value of this moment.

Congratulations, she tells you. You’re on your way.

But don’t forget to bend your knees. Make sure your hands are behind your waist and that your palms bend outwards.

Tapping matters. But not as much as you thought it did.

STEP TWO: NATTA ADAVU (STRETCHING) Stretch; stretch until your calves ache and quiver, until the balls of your feet feel like they meld to the rubbery floor.

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BY NAMRATA VERGHESE

Deviations from focus will wobble you, ground you in the now, and you will lean as the Earth leans.

By now, you are a dance veteran. At four, you joined the class with your horde of friends-since-birth, all smooth feet and curls. Indian parents have a need to push their children: karate for Karans and kathak for Kirans. But, as feet grew blisters and hair grew frizzy, your friends started to vanish, one by one. Now, it’s just you and five other girls in the dingy gym rented from the local basketball team for one hour, Wednesday nights only. Five other girls who don’t mind standing on their tippy toes until their nails crumble and peel. Who don’t mind tightening their buns until their heads ache and throb. Who, like you, know that this doesn’t matter.

Because when you can tell stories with your eyes and hands, how could anything else matter?

STEP THREE: TATTIMETTI ADAVU (BALANCING) After the stretching comes the balance. You stand in the same position for so long that you begin to feel twinges in places you didn’t know twinges could happen. Your backside cramps every day, but your mother ices your spine and you harden your mind.

This is the year that your dance class moves out of the gym and into a small red-brick building all to itself, with an official sign and business cards to its name. Suddenly, your guru is more serious about everything. No stray smudges of mascara, no tiny tremors of positions. This is her business

26

now, and you are her client. You wonder what happened to the woman your mother used to invite over for tea.

You dance in a studio now. The walls are hospital white and the girls are just shadows on their surfaces. Mirrors are everywhere—there are two, three; there are too many to count, they must stretch into infinity.

There’s a moment, in the middle of a twirl, when you can look at your reflection and lose it before it’s found. You dance against the light beating in those tiny cracks where one mirror ends and the other has not yet begun.

Of course, you can wrap a sari like an expert now, and shame on you if you haven’t already mastered the art of kajal.

Stories are important, your guru says.

But you need to look the part as well.

After all, Princess Sita would never have been seen with smeared lipstick.

Oh, and don’t forget to smile.

STEP FOUR: TEERMANAM ADAVU (ENDING) Your guru’s hair is newly cut and highlighted with streaks of light brown, so she has to blow it heavily out of her eyes when she criticizes you now. Illogically, this softens the blow of the insult. “Big smiles,” she reminds you. “This is the happy ending.”

Your mother couldn’t come to watch this show, but before she dropped you off, she kissed your cheek and told you that you looked like a princess in your costume.

You disagree—in a too-big sari that’s tapered in all the wrong places, you look like an upside-down ice cream cone— but you smiled back at her anyway. So now you wait in the parking lot, watching as proud parents hug accomplished daughters and drive off into the hazy afternoon sun.

Molting grey birds perch on the sidewalk beside your battered flip-flops.

Their claws scratch words you can’t understand in the dirt. Together, you wait for a new day.

STEP FIVE: SARIKAL ADAVU (SLIDING) It doesn’t seem logical that you learn to slide after you learn to finish. Your guru tells you that this is because there is a grace to the slide that can only come from experience.

This is a lie, you learn quickly. The slide isn’t an art; it’s a calculation. It translates movements into variables, renders your actions generic to the contours of any form. Your body is linear, the y-axis of a Cartesian plane, and the three points of your head, chest, and torso are distributed evenly and vertically. Symmetry matters. Poetry doesn’t.

The endings are always happy.

As you pose for the ending, arms raised high in the air, you feel the weight of an invisible book in your hands. If you were to open it, it would shine in the dim light of the stage. It’s hard to read the words inside, but easy to imagine them.

You presume you came from somewhere, but this is all you can remember: the noise of lethargic applause, the fading of befores, the absence of afters.

27

Your dance is boiled down into degrees of measured space.

Before, school was a temporary station in between dance classes. But the quiet boy two rows down from you in your biology class has changed that. He is like no one you’ve ever seen before, with steely eyes and a face of planes and angles. You admire him the way women admire men

who know they are to be admired.

“Everything is dying!” your teacher proclaims excitedly, jolting you out of your daydreams as she tries in vain to hammer the concept of entropy into the brains of summer-ready students.

She’s misunderstood the concept. You know, because you’ve read ahead in the textbook. Everything isn’t dying; it’s simply changing. One state to another.

Ice melts, then boils. It is far better to be many things than it is to be one.

STEP SIX: KUDITTAMETTA ADAVU (JUMPING) The boy’s name is Alex, and he likes football. You realize the minute he asks you out that it’s a mistake, but you say yes anyway. Sweaty palms. Nervous giggles. You kiss like a rooster; you lost your feathers in the fight. Your eyes must be muted when you paint yourself with papier-mâché.

After you end things with him, you quit dance. Your guru’s eyes betray no emotion, but you can see glimpses of who you used to be reflected in their hollow spaces. Blink on, blink off, memorize your script and recite it.

On your way out, the darkness of the studio lights up with a blue and red pulse. A heartbeat thuds in the background, but it is not your own, so you forget that you must tap to it. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the shadow of a woman, a dancer, silhouetted against the wall. Light hits it, and she dissipates. She becomes floating particles in the air. Dust you swallow when you’re struggling to breathe. The room is a riddle; its vacant space is organized into a puzzle. The answer has already been found and forgotten.

Stillness.

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KITCHEN TABLE

I grew up surrounded by a family of phenomenal chefs and bakers, and I’ve always wanted to give people what my family gave me—happy, wholesome, and comfortable food.

I graduated from culinary school in 2013. In 2014, an elimination diet opened my eyes to the benefits of clean food. I love the challenge of making favorite meals from my childhood “clean” without sacrificing flavor. I provide healthy and yummy home-cooked meals on a weekly basis to make my customers’ lives easier and allow them more time around the table with the ones they love, totally at peace knowing they are eating well. Most of all, I love it when those who order from me tell me that their kids like my food!

with ELI ZABETH DOSS ORR

Subscribe to my mailing list to receive my weekly newsletter and menu at ElizabethDossOrr.com

photos by Ish Holmes

Quick Roasted Tomato Sauce

Lemon Shrimp

12 Roma tomatoes 1 large sweet onion 6 cloves garlic (yes, six!)

3 Tbsp olive oil 1 Tbsp sea salt 1 Tbsp black pepper 10-14 fresh whole basil leaves ½ tsp fennel seeds

4 cups quinoa 1 Tbsp olive oil 1 pound asparagus 3 cloves garlic, finely chopped 1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined 1 whole lemon, zested and juiced 2 Tbsp butter or ghee ½ tsp red pepper flakes Salt 2 Tbsp fresh parsley, roughly chopped

Slice tomatoes in half and place on a lined sheet pan, skin side up. Peel and cut onion in quarters and place on roasting pan with tomatoes and garlic. Cover with olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt and pepper.

Roast at 400° for 30 minutes until tomato skins begin to blister and cook down. While still warm, place all contents of sheet pan into a blender or food processor. Add basil leaves and fennel. Blend until smooth.

“This quick and easy Italian dish is a staple for me. Serve it over zucchini noodles or grilled chicken. To tell the truth, sometimes I just eat it with a spoon!”

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and Quinoa

*not pictured

Cook quinoa according to package directions. Heat olive oil in saucepan over medium to high heat. Slice asparagus spears on the diagonal into bite-sized pieces. Add garlic and asparagus to the heated oil and cook for two minutes.

Add shrimp, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Cook just until the shrimp turn white and start to curl in.

Remove from heat and add butter; stir until butter melts. Add red pepper flakes and salt to taste. Serve over quinoa and top with parsley.

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Clean Chocolate Bark ½ cup coconut oil ½ cup cocoa powder 3 Tbsp maple syrup (100% pure) pinch of sea salt chopped nuts (optional)

Melt coconut oil. Stir in cocoa powder, maple syrup, and sea salt.

Serve as chocolate syrup over strawberries, or pour onto parchment paper, top with chopped nuts, and let cool in the refrigerator for an hour. Break into chunks and enjoy.

“Insanely easy to make and so good, this is a fantastic alternative to candy bars made with refined sugar and corn syrup.

It’s a great answer to chocolate cravings for those living a clean lifestyle.”

32

BIOGRAPHY

BY ALLISON SMYLY

Dr. Leiv Takle Sr.

Dr. Leiv Takle’s journey from Levanger, Norway, to providing more than 43 years of eye care in Griffin is a classic success story: a shining example of American opportunity, with plenty of hard work and perseverance in the mix. Leiv’s drive to succeed was evident early, as he was a champion ski jumper in his local district and participated in speed skating competitions. In the late 1950s, on the recommendation of a high school friend, Oystein Tveter, Leiv applied and was one of a few students from Norway accepted as an exchange student to America.

Dr. Samuel Brown and his family hosted young Leiv at their home in Ansley Park, near Atlanta, where he shared a room with his “American brother,” Sy, and attended Henry Grady High School. Dr. Takle remembers experiencing some culture shock when he moved from his hometown of 2,000 people to Atlanta, but he very much enjoyed his time in Georgia. Pleasant memories of the United States stayed with him as he finished high school and college in Norway, eventually earning enough credits

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to put him halfway toward a PhD in psychology at the University of Oslo. A growing restlessness led him to believe that his destiny was in another field: “The more I studied psychology, the more I wanted to be in medicine,” he says.

In the summers of 1961 through 1963, Leiv returned to the States as a camp counselor at Torch Lake in Michigan, but his desire to go into medicine was stronger than ever. A friend suggested he apply for medical school in New York City and even offered to let Leiv live with him for the unheard-of bargain of $1 a day. Leiv was accepted to Columbia on scholarship and earned a Bachelor of Science in zoology there, but to fulfill his dream, he still needed to apply to medical school. He eventually chose Emory because he wanted to be close to his “American family” and friends he had made while living in Atlanta as an exchange student.

Dr. Takle recalls moving from New York to Atlanta with his wife. Like many young couples, the Takles faced financial challenges. “All of our belongings could fit into a box. We had a car, and somewhere along the way that car broke down,” says Dr. Takle in his typical wry manner. The car was towed to a nearby garage. “We spent the night in the car, in the garage…with a cat.”

Nevertheless, Dr. Takle made it to Atlanta and, in 1969, graduated from Emory Medical School. It was there, after attending a two-week lecture in ophthalmology and meeting Dr. Phinazee Calhoun, that Leiv discovered his true passion, ophthalmology. Dr. Takle remembers being drawn to Dr. Calhoun’s kindness and gentlemanly

35

demeanor. “I got fired up,” he says. “From then on, there was nothing else I wanted to do.”

Still more education and training were required for Dr. Takle to achieve his goal, so he did a year of internship and completed his residency from 1971-1973. During this time, he continued working to support his growing family. Leiv Jr. was born in 1971, and a second son, Kris, was born in 1973.

When Dr. Takle was finishing school and getting ready to open his own practice, he briefly considered moving back to Norway, but is now glad that he decided to remain in Georgia. He knew, however, that he didn’t want to raise his sons in Atlanta, so he began looking at nearby towns, including Carrollton and Newnan. The Takles eventually chose Griffin as their new hometown after meeting Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat specialist Dr. Jack Austin and his wife at a professional conference in the Bahamas. The Austins convinced the Takles that they would be welcome and needed in Griffin.

“I went to Griffin to look around, but I didn’t know what I was looking for,” Dr. Takle says. “Nowadays, people look at a town’s schools, restaurants, social options…

I just needed a job.” To help the Takles in their search for a house, Mrs. Austin introduced them to local realtor Margaret Landham, whom Dr. Takle describes as “so pleasant and nice.” When Dr. Takle told Mrs. Landham that he didn’t have money for a down payment, she introduced him to her banker, C.T. Parker. “He listened to my story, shook my hand, and said, ‘You’ve got the money.’”

The Takles made their first home in Hillandale.

After driving to Atlanta for half the year to complete his residency, in 1973 Dr. Takle opened an office (built by Bart Searcy) where he has practiced ophthalmology ever since. He is now seeing the children and even the grandchildren of his original patients. Dr. Takle attributes the practice’s longevity to its genuine concern for patients and a desire to take good care of them. He also credits the staff: “We’ve had very good help through the years, and they’re still here. Patients like continuity.”

Dr. Takle has maintained a variety of interests over the years, including managing LeiKri Farms, a large family cattle farm in Concord. “If I could have been a farmer in Norway, I would have been happy,” he says. He also had a pilot’s license and enjoyed flying his planes. Louis Thacker taught Dr. Takle and his sons to fly. Dr. Takle continues to enjoy reading, movies, Broadway musicals, and concerts at Spivey Hall.

Leiv Sr. is extremely pleased to be joined in his practice by his older son, Leiv Jr., who began working there in 2007. Younger son Kris is a pilot with Southwest Airlines.

Through the years, Dr. Takle has especially treasured trips home to Norway, which he usually makes at least once a year, and visits from his family. His parents, Ivar Olav and Ingeborg, often traveled from Norway to spend 4-6 months at LeiKri Farms. “They had their own place downstairs,” says Dr. Takle. “They loved it here.” Marveling at the beautiful local scenery, Dr. Takle’s mother once said, “I’m on the road to heaven.”

Dr. Takle is proud that his dad lived to see and even help with one of the major renovations of the clinic, completed in 1989. He laughs, “Dad came here to get away from mom, to help with the planning, and to see the girls in the office.” Bonny Shockley, Dr. Takle’s longtime office manager, remembers that her typewriter would sometimes disappear during these visits because Ivar Olav had taken it so he could type newsletters about his experiences in the States to send home to Norway.

Leiv Sr.’s brother, Lasse, and sister, Inger, visit frequently.

Dr. Takle recalls a touching moment when he showed Lasse the family farm. “Let me take you through the 20,000-30,000 trees your father planted,” Leiv said to his brother, who was moved by the experience. Lasse said, “Now I know why they loved this place so much.”

Dr. Takle remains dedicated to caring for his patients and to his American hometown that he adopted so many years ago. “Griffin has been good to us in so many ways,” Dr. Takle says. “I’m very grateful for having come.” Our town is richer for it. continued on pg. 39

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37

Undergraduate A degree from the programs r re University of Georgia i t o u f o r mo s i V o Agribusiness is closer than you think. o Agricultural Education webfosirtme at ion! o o o o o o o o o

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Agricultural & Environmental Education Mathematics Education Student Affairs Leadership Workforce Education

The University of Georgia is committed to the principles of equal opportunity and affirmative action.

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continued from pg. 36

Dr. Leiv Takle Jr. Coming to Griffin to practice ophthalmology with the name Leiv Takle brought with it high expectations, but Dr. Leiv Takle Jr. is meeting those expectations while adding his own unique gifts and abilities to the work at the Takle Eye Group. As a child, Leiv Jr. worked with his father on the family’s Concord cattle farm, LeiKri Farms.

Mostly, he remembers having a dad who worked hard for everything, whether in his eye care practice or on the farm. “My dad always said, ‘Work hard and good things will come to you,’” he says.

From a young age, Leiv Jr. was interested in science and medicine. He knew early on that he wanted to be a doctor, and eventually chose to follow in his father’s footsteps by becoming an ophthalmologist. Leiv Jr. obtained a bachelor’s degree in biology from Presbyterian College, then a Master of Science in biology from Baylor University, where he taught microbiology and histology. After that, he entered medical school to fulfill his goal of becoming a doctor. During his third and fourth years of medical school, he did base core clinical work at Waterford Regional Hospital in Waterford, Ireland, where he saw socialized medicine firsthand. He did his ophthalmology rotations at the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland, then returned to the United States in 2002 to complete his internship at Emory and his transition internship at Grady Hospital. Dr. Takle, Sr. and Dr. Takle, Jr. first connected professionally as both completed internships at Grady.

After finishing his ophthalmologic residency at Emory from 2003-2006, Dr. Takle Jr. completed a fellowship in oculoplastic and orbital surgery, which qualifies him to perform surgery on the skin and orbit of the eye, for example, the reconstruction of eyelids following skin cancer removal. In 2007, he joined his father in practicing ophthalmology in Griffin. “Dad encouraged me to do that extra training,” says Dr. Takle Jr. “It has enhanced the practice.” Dr. Takle Jr. is also trained in the latest techniques in cataract surgery, a mainstay of the work done at the Takle Eye Group.

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Every day, Leiv Jr. tries to put into practice the lessons he learned from his father. “Dad believes in relationships,” he says. “As a medical student, intern, resident, there was always the science that needed to be learned, but Dad always told me, ‘You’ll remember the science. But never forget that each of these people have lives.’ That is the most powerful thing he shared with me.”

Dr. Takle Jr. knows that any successful endeavor takes teamwork, whether building an eye care practice or raising a family. He states that the practice’s effectiveness depends greatly on the excellent staff: “It’s not about me.

It’s the team.” Similarly, he gives much of the credit for his personal success to his wife, Lindsey. He says, “People don’t realize the sacrifices that a physician’s wife makes for the continuity of the family and how the kids grow up. It takes someone very special. I wouldn’t be able to do what I do if it weren’t for her.”

Leiv Jr. and Lindsey have four children, Macie, a senior at Spalding High; Bella, 13, and Liam, 7, both students at St. George’s Episcopal School; and Finley, 3. Leiv Jr. is interested in politics, particularly as it relates to patientfocused care in Georgia. He also follows UGA athletics, especially the university’s football recruiting efforts.

Above all, Leiv Jr. remains dedicated to carrying on his father’s legacy of truly caring for each patient. “We want to build relationships and provide comprehensive, umbrella-type care where patients can go for all their eye care needs,” he says. “This practice has had a tremendous presence in Griffin for 43 years built upon the premise that patients come first.”

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Kitchen Drawer’s Own Brittany michelle Cobb graduates from gordon state college!

Cathy Willis Meets Santa

The Notorious messer boys enjoy christmas morning

mark freedman galLivants around town

ish holmes and josh presley prep the set for liberty technology’s fireside chat video

best christmas present ever, lyric harper rose basham born december 26, 2016

The ladies of liberty (technology) enjoy their annual holiday dinner at 6th street pier

The taylor family with their beagle, drake

brynn proctor meets elsa from frozen

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MOVIE REVIEW

HEA LT H

Six Simple Ways to Improve Your Health and Feel your Best

BY JENNA PRITCHARD

Being healthy and energized does not have to be complicated. It really isn’t difficult to learn to live more simply and come back to basics; however, all the information out there can get confusing. It seems that wherever we turn, we are being told what to eat or what not to eat. There are many different beliefs about what we should eat or do for optimum health, many of them conflicting.

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There are many popular diets. Which one, if any, is right for you? There’s no such thing as a “one-size-fits-all” nutrition plan. Instead, here are six easy ways you can improve your health and have more energy.

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EAT CLEAN Cut out sugar, dairy, gluten, alcohol, and caffeine for a time, whether three days, one week, or one month. This will help to release stored toxins and loosen the sticky waste product of digestion (“ama” in Ayurvedic terms) that builds up in the digestive tract when your digestion is either weak or overloaded with the wrong foods, moving it into the gastrointestinal tract to eventually be eliminated. At the same time, start filling up on healthier foods, and you may find that you have less room and/or less desire for fattening and unhealthy choices. Include plenty of fresh green salads and vegetables; some fruit; healthy protein such as eggs, fish, chicken, turkey, hummus, and beans; and healthy fats such as avocado, olive oil, coconut oil, and grass-fed butter. Focus on what you can have, not on what you can’t. It’s no fun to restrict yourself! Try this for a few days and you’ll be amazed how good you feel!

LISTEN TO YOUR BODY A huge part of eating clean is learning to listen to your body. People often ask me what kind of diet I follow. My answer is always the same: “I eat the foods that my body asks for.” In order to do this, however, you have to be willing to listen.

Once you begin to pay attention to the signals that your body sends you, you will begin to recognize when your body has had enough food. A key to staying trim is to never overeat—always eat just until you are satisfied, and then stop.

The wise and ancient Indian philosophy called Ayurveda recommends filling the stomach ½ with food, ¼ with water, and leaving the other ¼ alone to make room for digestion. For just one week, stop overeating and see how much better you feel and how much energy you have. Tony Robbins has given us some examples of how to stop eating when you know it’s time. Change your pattern. Push your plate away, get up from the table, and start dancing. Another option is to sprinkle salt over your plate so that you won’t keep nibbling, or better yet, serve yourself smaller portions. You can always get a second serving later…that is, if you really want it.

We have to learn to tune in to what our bodies are asking for. Many of my clients complain that they crave unhealthy foods all the time. Part of the problem is that we are continually feeding our bodies with processed foods that are made in a laboratory for the purpose of being addictive. We must take responsibility for what we are eating and clear out the toxins. Eat clean for at least one week and you’ll notice a huge difference in what your body actually starts asking for.

Note: Be aware of mindless eating, as it is very common. Many of us have made a habit of zoning out in front of the TV and eating way more than we normally would because we are not paying attention.

DRINK AT LEAST EIGHT (EIGHT-OUNCE) GLASSES OF WATER EACH DAY Being adequately hydrated is essential for weight control. Water is also important in keeping our metabolism working efficiently and keeping the metabolic rate up. When we are dehydrated, our metabolic rate slows down. Drink water throughout the day, but do not drink the majority of your water at mealtime. Some people suggest that drinking a full glass of water before meals is the way to go, but this is actually not true. The reason is that each of us has “digestive fire” called hydrochloric acid, or in Ayurvedic terms, “agni.” Dumping large amounts of water on our agni puts out the fire that would normally digest our food, which in turn, weakens digestion. A minimal amount of water should be consumed with meals (small sips), and the largest portion of daily water consumption should take place at least one hour before or after meals.

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ESTABLISH A SLEEP ROUTINE AND GET AT LEAST EIGHT HOURS OF SLEEP EACH NIGHT Did you know that the deepest sleep occurs between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.? Take advantage of this period of deep sleep to wake up refreshed and rested each morning. Make it a habit to get to bed before 10 p.m. and wake up before 6 a.m. each morning. If you have trouble getting to sleep, drink calming teas such as valerian, chamomile, hops, lavender, lemon balm, brahmi, kava kava, wood betony, and/or Fidnemed (sold at True North Yoga & Wellness). Over time, your body will eventually get used to this routine and you will naturally become tired around 9 or 9:30 p.m. In addition, early morning is a great time to take some time for yourself, while things are still quiet. I personally use this time for prayer and meditation, and I find that it makes a tremendous difference in my outlook for the day.

EXERCISE REGULARLY Exercise is a key part of any healthy regimen. In order to see results quickly, begin to exercise four to five times a week for at least 40-50 minutes each time. This could be a simple walk, swimming, jogging, yoga, biking, aerobics, or any other form of exercise that feels good to you. The key is to find a form of exercise that you enjoy. Walking is an easy way to get started, and it does not always have to feel like exercise. Find a beautiful park, or walk along the sidewalk in your neighborhood.

Find paths that offer you nature and stillness, people-watching, or a beautiful setting. Listen to your favorite music or a book on CD/iPod, or simply use this time to focus on breathing and relaxing.

PRACTICE DEEP BREATHING Is it possible to be calm and centered while living a busy life? With the myriad of responsibilities we all have, how can we find the time to properly care for our basic needs?

It’s easy to get busy and stay busy. Many of us live our entire lives in fight-or-flight mode because there is just so much to do.

We feel pressured and overworked. The next time that happens, take a moment and stop. Is your body tense or relaxed?

How is your breathing? Have you eaten? Can you find it within yourself to stop and take some time for yourself in these moments?

When we rush through our tasks without stopping to enjoy and be present for each one, we are operating in the sympathetic nervous system. We are tense, anxious, and stressed. So what do we do about it? We can start by simply breathing.

Just five minutes per day of diaphragmatic breathing will begin to balance your nervous system. When we practice proper breathing, we feel more relaxed and calm throughout our day. We learn to stay focused on the task at hand rather than thinking about a thousand other things. Breath work, when practiced properly, helps us to stay focused on the here and now, which brings more peace into our lives. Also known as pranayama, it increases our energy, expands and develops our brain faculties, gives us increased perception, invigorates the cardiovascular system, calms the mind, detoxifies the body, and so much more.

And that’s all, folks! Just following these six simple recommendations can transform your life. Try them for a week or two and see how good you can feel.

Jenna Pritchard is a nutritionist, yogi, and proprietor of True North Yoga & Wellness, located in the old Coke building at 410 East Taylor Street in Griffin. You can contact Jenna at yogatruenorth@gmail.com, or by calling 619-770-9752. For more, visit www.yogatruenorth.com. w w w. k it chendr aw er.net

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By Ronnie Garrison I have always loved the song “Winter Wonderland,� even though it described a foreign world. Snow hardly ever glistened anywhere in my world during the winter, and if we had some on the ground for even one whole day it was unusual. And riding in a sleigh was out of the question.

Winter did, and still does, hold a special place in my heart, though. Quail hunting seemed to get better after Christmas, and rabbit hunting definitely got more productive. It is much easier to see and shoot a rabbit when weeds die back and leaves fall off underbrush.

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I squirrel hunted more than anything else, and it is so much easier to see and shoot squirrels without leaves on the trees. In winter, they could no longer hide in the tops of trees, hidden from view by leaves. It sometimes took a while, but if you treed a squirrel you could almost always spot him if you looked hard enough, and you could throw something to the other side of the tree to make him move to your side.

There is something starkly beautiful about the woods in winter.

Gone are the greens of summer and even the colorful leaves of autumn. Now, especially on cloudy or foggy days, the woods are dominated by grays, from the light gray of the sky to the darker grays of limbs to the dark gray, almost black, of some tree trunks. A pine or cedar really stands out in winter.

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There is something starkly beautiful about the woods in winter.

Something that always seemed weird to me was folks in books saying robins heralded spring. Most years, they showed up in huge numbers in our fields right after Christmas. It was much later that I realized they had to fly south in the winter; it is real hard for robins to dig earthworms from the frozen ground up north. Robins do signal spring in the north since they migrate back when the ground finally thaws.

When growing up, I never even considered winter fishing. Fishing was a warm-weather activity. Now I know that winter is a great time to catch bass, especially big ones, hybrids, stripers, and crappie. Of course, there were no stripers or hybrids in even our bigger lakes back then, and with my cane pole and can of earthworms, bass were not my usual targets.

When not hunting, I could often be found in my rock fort. In our big field, there was a place where huge rocks, a couple of them as big as cars, were right on the surface. Over the years, smaller rocks, many of them too big for a kid to move, had been moved from the field to that place. This rock island was about 150 feet from the fence line where the woods began. It had some fairly tall sweetgum trees and even a few oaks growing in it, too.

The biggest rock was buried in the ground on one side, but on the downhill side it stuck out about three feet. That side was flat, with a straight edge for ten feet. We rolled the biggest rock we could move, as well as smaller rocks, to build three more walls, each about three feet high, using the big boulder as our base.

In one corner, we had a fireplace—a circle of rocks was just right for a small fire to warm us a little in the cold weather.

The front side was a big flat rock where we put an old quart can to boil eggs and other items. On either side, behind the rocks, we placed forked sticks cut fresh on almost every trip so they would be green and not burn easily. Another straight green limb completed the spit.

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Robins often ended up on our spit, roasting over the fire. They were easy to kill with our BB guns and tasted pretty good, even though they were always tough and dry. Robins taste a lot like doves. We roasted many of them.

My family had 11,000 laying hens on our farm, so on my way to the fort I would put three or four eggs in my pocket.

Most of them usually made the trip without breaking. I made a little nest lined with dog fennel for them in a pocket in the corner of the fort, and we would boil them in the quart can.

Dearing Branch was about 100 yards on the other side of the fence, and it supplied not only our cooking water, we filled our canteens with its water for drinking, too.

I think I learned to enjoy being alone while curled up near a fire in that fort in the winter. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, and all was right in the world. I could let my youthful imagination run anywhere it wanted to go. Even so, I often shared my fort with Harold and Hal. There was room for all three of us to sit and talk and defend our fort.

We pretended a lot of things while in that fort. We defended it from Indians (we didn’t know back then that was a politically incorrect name) and from Nazis and Yankees. And we always won!

Winter can be a great time to make outdoor memories, and with modern clothing you can stay warmer than we did back then and enjoy it even more.

Read more from Ronnie at fishing-about.com

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OUR READERS SHARE THEIR HOPES AND DREAMS FOR

2017 Peter Chagnon Take at least one fishing trip a week with my girls.

Bhoomika Dey Get better at adulting.

Nan Jolly Moore Take negative people out of my life—Facebook and real life.

Will try to eat more fruit as soon as I can eat again. Hopes and prayers that the oral surgeon will eventually allow more than liquids. *sigh* Paige H. McDaniel-Lee Try to control my speech better by controlling the mind.

Body: Eat one piece of fruit a day.

Soul: Pray more because Lord knows my soul needs it.

Catherine Slegl I’m reverting back to childhood. I’ve been a grown-up for 40 years now. I’m over it. Back to Kid Land. Join me?

Patsy Harden-Yates My hope for 2017 is to wake up every morning...all year!

Kathy Harrison Eating better and being able to wake up every morning.

Verna Stephens To get closer to God and let him take full control.

Anne Hendricks Childress Wrap up my second grad degree.

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THESE PUPS NEED FOREVER HOMES! The dogs on this page are available for adoption through Dolly Goodpuppy Society out of Barnesville, GA. For more information visit dollygoodpuppy.org or email dollygoodpuppy@gmail.com. Photos by Jessica Cobb

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2017 Fiction Contest Winner

In July, we announced our third fiction contest. Out of dozens of entries, we selected the following winners. Read the winning stories in this final issue of Kitchen Drawer.

“AN UNLIKELY FRIEND” BY TIFFANI LONG “GUIDE TO BHARATANATYAM” BY NAMRATA VERGHESE “CONTINUE TO BREATHE” BY KATELYN SCHNEIDER

CONTINUE TO BREATHEBY KATELYN SCHNEIDER

S

tanding in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station, I realize my life has become the cliché of what can go wrong will go wrong. I sit on the hood of my car, feeling the warmth of the engine that was working moments ago, and call my dad for the eighth time. I don’t bother to pop the hood because I know it won’t make a difference.

The ringing stops, and my dad’s voice fills the other side.

Relief floods over me, and I drown him in my problem, filling him in with the answers to the questions I know he’s going to ask. Yes, I’m okay. No, I don’t know what’s wrong.

Yes, I called a tow truck. And to his credit, he just listens.

“I know it’s late, but do you think you can come get me?”

I ask. It’s actually early. 1:23 in the morning, and I’m two hours away.

He gives me a ten-minute explanation even though he could have just said no. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just can’t,” he adds.

His voice is slurred, either from sleep or alcohol. It’s hard to tell which these days.

“I’ll figure it out. Love you,” I say and hang up without needing to hear his response.

I swallow the lump in my throat and blink away the tears.

I hate crying when I’m frustrated. I hate crying at all. It’s unnecessary. Besides, I know I’ll cry rivers if I can make it to my dreaded hometown.

There’s no one for me to call. I’m not going back to school, and I refuse to call anyone from home. I don’t much like to ask for help, so that leaves me with one option. Ride

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two hours in a tow truck with some creepy old man and pray—well, hope—he isn’t a killer. I’m not sure I want to pray anymore.

The truck rumbles into the lot, and the driver gets out and starts loading my car up without saying a word. I’m surprised to see he’s young and doesn’t look creepy at all. He’s covered in grease and doesn’t have a jacket on even though it’s mid-November.

I stand awkwardly at his driver’s side door, watching him work until he’s finished. The gentleness of his voice surprises me when he begins going through his script of questions. It doesn’t match his sculpted figure that’s towering over me.

“I need a ride,” I say. “Can you drop my car off at the shop and then take me to my house? It’s only twenty minutes out of the way. I’ll pay you extra if you want.”

“That’s fine,” he answers. “Slide in.” He opens the door and motions for me to get in. I slide in, buckle my seat belt, and hope these next two hours fly by. Time goes too fast when you don’t want it to, and it drags by when you wish it wouldn’t. It’s funny how the only truly consistent thing in our world plays that game with us.

After about ten minutes, he lowers the radio’s volume.

“What school do you go to?” he asks.

I look at him, and I think he sees the concern in my eyes, so he adds, “I saw the student decal on your windshield.”

I nod. “University of South Carolina.”

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“Oh, cool. Go Gamecocks. What are you studying?”

Minutes pass, and finally I breathe again. The tears are a steady stream, like rainfall during a hurricane.

“Art.” My one-word responses clearly don’t deter him from talking. He looks over at me, his smile reaching his green eyes. “Why were you on the road so late? Where are you going?” he asks.

“Can we not talk? Who I am isn’t your concern,” I say and force myself to look out the window. I wasn’t always so angry. Now I don’t know how to not be.

“You got it,” he says and turns the radio back up.

After an hour or so of staring out the window into the darkness, I catch myself glancing at him. His head bobs back and forth to the music, his fingers tap against the steering wheel. He seems unfazed by the early hour and by my rudeness. I realize I don’t know his name.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

He keeps his gaze forward, but answers me. “Collins.”

“I’m sorry, Collins. For what I said. I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you.”

He shrugs, his fingers still going along with the music.

“You’re right. You’re none of my concern. Only your $32,000 Mercedes is. Don’t worry, though. Your car will be fine, and you’ll get to whatever debutante event you’re going to on time.”

Everything inside me collapses, and the hollow feeling I have is replaced with anger. My frustrated tears fall unabated. I can’t say anything because I hate him. Because I hate me. Because I’ll sob. Because I never say enough.

He glances over and sees the effect of his words. One hand falls from the steering wheel and he places it on my shoulder. I can’t compose myself enough to pull away.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know you. I have no right to say that,” he says, and I can tell he means it. I forgive him.

I do. It’s not forgiving others that’s hard. It’s forgiving myself that I struggle with.

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“I’m going to a funeral,” I mutter, annoyed that now he’ll think I’m broken and more annoyed that he’ll be right.

And suddenly, it’s not enough. He’s looking at me with kind green eyes, and I’m so tired of having to open my blue ones every day. I’m never going to see him again, so I just let it all go. I become the shattered girl on the outside that I have been on the inside for so long. The words rush over each other and only pause when I stop for a breath I don’t want to take.

“My younger sister died three days ago. Her funeral is tomorrow morning. She was 14. Had a lifetime to go, but now, nothing. A drunk driver hit us, and I watched her die. I called and called for help, but they weren’t getting to us fast enough. I was and am fine. No part of me is hurt or broken. I am breathing with every passing second, and she is just dead. My mom died a year and a half ago from cancer. My dad has been checked out since then, so it’s been me and Rori. She is my sanity.

Was. I am the only one left, and I just don’t want to be. I pray and pray, and everything just keeps getting worse. I just don’t get it. I don’t want to try to anymore.”

I am clinging to the seat with fists clenched so tight it hurts. Collins slips his hand into mine but doesn’t speak for a while. I stare at the headlights as they pass us, wishing on each one that this pain would just kill me.

“Why were you driving tonight?” he asks. No apology, no comment on the mess I just laid out in front of him.

I’m puzzled, but grateful in a way.

“Rori and I have bracelets that we both wear every day.

She left hers at my dorm last weekend, and she has to have it. I had to get it for her. It’s just a bracelet, but it was our promise to always fight for each other, to push ourselves because it meant the other could keep going.

It’s just a bracelet, but it means a lot more. I needed her to have it.”

I can see the body shop now.

“I don’t know you, and something tells me not many people do, but I think you’re wrong,” he said. “I think you want to get it, to understand this unfair life. I think

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you want to continue to continue. Because you got her bracelet. You want Rori to know you’re fighting for her. And since you’re giving her the bracelet, I think you know she’s with God, and they’re both on your side. You’re just angry, and rightfully so. But you should pray because I think you want to. And because He will answer you.

I think you have strength inside you that you’re not letting yourself see, and I think you want to keep going. You just don’t want to seem selfish for living. But you have a world to change, and a life to make matter. I think you are going to be broken for a while, but not unusable.”

Serene, Country Living

My heart feels for the first time a desire to beat, even if it does so unsteadily. I feel God and Rori and my mom through this tow truck driver.

“Can one tow truck ride really change your life?”

I ask him with a small smile.

He shrugs. “Probably not. But it can change how you choose to see it.”

And just like that, I breathe. Really breathe.

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61

“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write something worth reading or do things worth the writing.”

Benjamin Franklin

We called ourselves The Little Magazine that Could.

Now after 8 years and 43 issues the Kitchen Drawer team is signing off...

It all began with a phone call: “Ben I’ve got an idea for a business.” From there, conversations developed into a manifesto about truly local media, by the people, for the people. A lot of things change in 8 years, but our steadfast focus on contributing to the local cultural context has remained constant. When I was reading the book, How to Start a Magazine, I learned that all magazines have a natural life span, and I’d like to think that we went out like James Dean.

BEN JOHNSON

I think it’s so cool that Griffin has had a magazine to really represent just how diverse, creative, and entrepreneurial our little town is.

ISH HOLMES “I love the Kitchen Drawer Magazine! I have been keeping up with your magazine since your first publication in April of 2009. I feel that I would make a great contribution to your staff.” I joined the staff nearly two weeks later and have been on this fantastic journey ever since. Through KD, I have grown. The magazine forever will be a testament to the beauty that we can accomplish together as a community, sharing and caring for each other. KD’s contributors and readers made this magazine what it became. If you were to have told me I would be here six years later, writing these last “farewell words” in the final issue of KD, I wouldn’t have believed you; but I am wholly grateful I am here and have shared with others in our vision for the little magazine that could.

BRITTANY MICHELLE COBB I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity to work at such a unique, artistic company with such an amazing and talented staff. Kitchen Drawer allowed me to break out of my behind-the-desk accounting and finance job, and explore areas of sales, photography, writing, and even modeling (thanks, Nicole). It was thrilling to meet so many passionate business owners and hear their back story, take photos, and help craft a perfect ad that best suited their style. Early on, I was given the opportunity to tap into my right brain and write a few stories. One of my fondest memories was kayaking down the Flint with the late Louis Greene, while hearing his accounts and stories of such a treasured river. The end is bittersweet, but the memories and experiences this magazine has given me will be cherished forever.

ASHLEY GREEN MCDANIEL Dear Magazine, I loved you. But in those moments where I had to fix typos, kerning, folios, em–dashes (!!!!!!), and opacity for the millionth time, I hated you. In the end I loved you more.

You’re like my annoying, adorable, little sibling who I will miss very much.

NICOLE PERRY

It has been a great privilege to work for this “little magazine that could,” and I’m proud to have contributed to its growth and success over the past two and a half years.

While my main role at Kitchen Drawer has been advertising sales, I have enjoyed all the other little facets of KD as well – from designing the occasional ad to distributing the final product. I love seeing people’s faces as I deliver the newest issue and they clamor to grab a copy. I once had a person tell me “We read Kitchen Drawer like we read the Bible around here.” That comment really stuck with me, and I think it fitting. I also have a good friend who grew up here but now lives in Kentucky, whose mother mails him a copy of each issue, because the magazine keeps him up-to-date on what’s going on “back home” (Hey Boz! Hope you enjoy this one).

JOSH MESSER

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