Last Thursday I went to the Dixon Gallery to hear a lecture by Thomas Hobbs, a famous plant person. He has an incredible eye. His latest book is Shocking Beauty. I don't even remember where I first saw the book, but I know I've seen it and studied the pictures in it. Amazing. He created something new in the world of plant design. His lecture was very funny and the slides were gorgeous, but the projectionist up in the far reaches of darkness seemed to go to sleep from time to time, nodding off at the wheel; creating blurry images in the vast black auditorium.
I was so glad I went. I offered the man some real Southern homemade Thanksgiving rolls to take back to Canada with him, but he refused, saying, "No, thank you. We have our Thanksgiving a week early in Canada. We've already had our Thanksgiving, so I really wouldn't have any use for them."

"Hmmmpf." I said, burning with shame at having offered such a gift to a stranger and at having been rejected in front of several well heeled Memphis ladies.

So I took a long cold walk through the gardens. They call them the most beautiful 17 acres in Memphis. It was cold that day and the garden reminded me of something, maybe visits to my friend Lucy's house, old house out in the country. The brick walks, ancient boxwoods, a cedar tree here and there. I can't say.
It was a good walk, a healthy walk. I shoved my hands into my pockets and pulled my shoulders in toward my chin and brooded about embarassing myself in front of the "President" of the garden club by asking the speaker if he'd like to have some of my dinner rolls as a gift. Why do I do such stupid things?
So I forgave myself on the walk and moved on. Left it. Acted all grown up. I decided I was too old to be embarassed about being myself.

And anyway, Friday was coming and I had baking to do.

That's another story-this little bread business I started. Somehow things got out of hand. I began to get stressed. I made it through the Saturday deliveries with the help of my daughter Sarah's best friend, Valerie, who not only volunteered to come and help, but insisted. She arrived at around 8:30am and stayed until it was time for her to go to the U of M game. She understands business. In fact, her mother and I were doing Christmas Bazaars in Covington way back in the 70's. I was selling my rolls then. Her mother Rosalyn went on to become extremely successful in her business and that's one reason Val understands holiday rush, packaging, deadlines and other things. Val came and understood much better than I did exactly what I was staring in the face. I finished around 5:30. I went to bed with a lot of pain in my shoulders and back. Sunday morning I woke up and tried to get out of bed. I wondered who could have put knife into my spine while I was sleeping. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything except cry. I didn't want to go to the emergency room for obvious reasons.I didn't want to stay for hours in a cold spare room with a hard table to lie on. Plus, what were they going to do for me? I don't think they'd have given me a nerve block then and there. At least, not like the expert, renown Dr. Schnapp. But then, I worried that my doctor wouldn't see me on Monday.He runs a very tight ship and his nurses close ranks around him. I didn't know how in the world I could finish all I had to do. Sunday was a very, very bad day.
A long day too.

Monday morning I called Dr. Schnapp's office. I talke to the nurse and fortunately she discerned the terror and hopelessness in my voice. She put me on hold for a moment then returned to the line and said, "All right, Mrs. Kolb, we'll work you in." I started crying again, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
Billy helped me to the car and off we went.

Dr. Schnapp gave me several injections and told me to quit baking. "Melinda," he said in his Brazillian accent, "why do you do this? What does this baking bread do for you? You don't have to work so hard do you?" So I told him what it did for me, what joy it gives me, and why it was important. I explained to him how strongly I feel about this little business I've started. "OK,OK,OK," he said, "it's ok, you just try not to get so stressed, ok?"

He told me to go to bed for the day and I did. On Tuesday morning I started my baking feeling much better. Because I'd felt so bad on Saturday I called most of my bread delivery people and asked if I could deliver their bread on Tuesday. But when Tuesday came I was overwhelmed. I'd been in bed for two days. I was behind. My helper Tamara wasn't able to stay the whole day and I was left with a ridiculous amount of bread to bake and deliver. I put off as much of the work as I could to Wednesday, hoping Tamara would be able to help me then.



Tamara's organizational skills at work. Label packaging ahead of time, Melinda. That will make things much easier and quicker.





She wasn't able to come until 1 o'clock and by that time I'd been baking for hours. But it was too much. I'd gotten calls late in the week and accepted orders I never should have agreed to, which put the early customers, the people I really OWED, at risk.
Tamara saved me.
Here she is late Wednesday afternoon packaging the rolls. It was a grueling day. We got into the car at about 6:30 Wednesday night to do the deliveries. She'd done all the paper work and had each person's order stacked together with their name and what they owed. When we got toward the end I asked her about my friend Kyle's order. I'd put it under her neighbor's name Charlotte. They are both dear friends from Covington. Charlotte's husband Sam was supposed to pick up the order but I didn't have it ready early enough.
I made the mistake of having Charlotte and Kyle in my head and not on the paper! I totally panicked. Then I called my friend Karen and told her what had happened. I told her I needed her order. I'd made a mistake. She laughed, just as I expected her to. "Come and get it," she said, laughing, I hope you live through this week! I'll leave it on the porch." SO! I typed her address into my GPS and off we went to her house to pick up the "goods." With the rolls and the cinnamon rolls to make the order complete I took Charlotte and Kyle's order to my nephew Will who was going to Union City for Thanksgiving and passing right through Covington. WHEW! He agreed to drop it off on his way!
But I still got the order wrong. Charlotte didn't get her Shoaf's Loaf! Sorry Charlotte!

So, I'm up this morning rehashing all the bad things about last week, all the mistakes. I'm figuring out what I want this business to be. I'm realizing that I need help. Tamara was just amazing in her ability to keep the day from falling apart.
But as my husband, the wise, Father Kolb always says: You live, you learn. And it's true. If you're gonna' move in any new direction you're gonna make mistakes.
As far as I know everyone received what they were meant to receive. Karen and Charlotte being obvious exceptions.(and Dana, my dear Dana. I gave one of her pans to someone else because I knew she'd love me anyway and understand. I owe you my friend)!


Gertie jumped up on the guest bed this morning and surveyed the damage. Plastic cinnamon roll containers left over from the Great Bread Storm of '08 were on her sleeping spot. She turned her back on me when I got the camera out. The dogs don't like this business at all. But they should be patient. They may get extra special kibbles or a trip to the dog spa if I get rich and famous.