It’s Show Time It’s day three in New York and so far, so good. I couldn’t ask for better weather— it’s in the low 70’s and sunny, with blue skies. If not for the air pollution, it would be perfect. We left the hotel around 12:30 p.m. and turned left on 5th Avenue, walking in the direction of 124 West 43rd Street. There was plenty of time ahead of us. I made sure we took extra time—there is always something: a bathroom break, window shopping, coffee, etc. If you’re not sure where I was heading to, the address above is where the Stephen Sondheim Theatre is located. This place opened in 1918 and named after the famous actor and producer Henry Miller. In 2010, it was renamed from Henry Miller’s Theatre to the Stephen Sondheim Theatre in honor of the well-known composer and lyricist Stephen Sondheim for his 80th birthday. While New York City offers many famous sites, lots of attractions, remarkable museums, superb dining and memorable culture, it’s still the Broadway shows that are my favorite. Whenever I visit New York, I go to see one Broadway show. This time I’m extremely fortunate, as I’ll be attending two Broadway shows during this five-day visit. It is true that you don’t need to travel to New York to see a Broadway show, as some Broadway shows now travel around the country, bringing the theatre to a stage near you. In many cases, these musicals have been turned into movies where you can enjoy them from the comfort of your own sofa. Although these alternatives are often attractive and convenient, I, personally, prefer the original Broadway stage. Beautiful: The Carole King Musical, which I saw today, only reaffirmed my preference. For me, there is nothing like seeing a show on the authentic Broadway stage. Maybe it’s walking down the overflowing sidewalks of Times Square— where the bright lights blind you and you can sense the anticipation hanging in the air— but there is something about the experience that just feels magical.
Beautiful: The Carole King Musical tells the story of the early life and career of well-known singer and songwriter Carole King. This bio-musical starts during the pinnacle of her career and then flashes back to her early days. Sara Shepared’s performance, the actress who played Carole, left me speechless. It wasn’t just the captivating narrative or the amazing music, but the raw emotion that she was able to portray as the show progressed. If some say that a picture is worth a thousand words, I would say that watching a Broadway show is worth a million words. Definitely add this musical to your bucket list. Michelle Temptation It’s early morning. I’m still here—apparently, I survived the flight. I set the alarm so that I would have ample time to write and post my blog, and even more importantly, be able to get my morning walk in. As much as I love New York and often let my ducks meander out of their row, this time I’m determined not to give up my walks. I’ll admit, I could probably enjoy another hour or two in bed, under a fluffy blanket, next to my husband. But thinking about my walking group and all of the great members that have joined me—how they walk with me every day, supporting my efforts and following my progress; I can’t let them down. This visit to New York is not going to derail my fitness goals. You probably think that suddenly I became a Superwoman. Well, you’re wrong. Believe me, I also slip-up. Traveling can be a huge hurdle when trying to lose weight. The temptation is everywhere: restaurants, coffee shops, free high-calorie breakfasts at the hotel, and let’s not forget that wicked piece of chocolate left on my pillow each night. Although I bravely shoved that tempting chocolate aside last night, I had an earlier slip-up—it was at dinnertime. Quite frankly, it was more than just a slip, it was more like a sin. My husband and I dine mostly in local restaurants, places where tourists don’t usually go. We started this tradition years ago, and not just in New York. It exposes us to the local culture and brings us closer to the communities we visit. To find these little gems, we don’t consult with our hotel staff. The chances that the concierge would recommend a neighborhood restaurant are slim. So, what do we do? We ask local people, like the bellman or even a taxi driver. And if it is a city where we have friends, we take their advice first. Last night, we ate at a small Italian restaurant. I had good intentions and tried to stick to the advice I’ve heard in the past. I ordered fish as my main course. However, it was everything else that accompanied it that tested my resolve. They served bread, along with their signature small plate of lentils in olive oil with garlic—and I could not help myself. Next, was the wine. My husband always upgrades the dinner with a great bottle of wine—I couldn’t let him drink alone. And to add the finishing touch to my sin, I ordered the delicious cannoli—just a plain cannoli. I wish I had better willpower when it comes to food. Thirty pounds is a long, arduous journey to travel before I reach my goal. I hope that with time I will be able to be stronger and stick with a sensible main course. In the meantime, I will walk a little longer to get rid of my sin from last night.
Does this happen to you? Michelle Claustrophobia I’m in the lounge at the Atlanta airport, on my way to New York. There is a two-and-a-half-hour flight ahead of me—I can’t tell you how much I hate flying. Hi, my name is Michelle Dim-St. Pierre, and I’m claustrophobic. I am afraid of closed spaces. It all started when I was in my mid-twenties. I was on a day shift, at the hospital, working in the Post Anesthesia Care Unit (PACU), also known as the Recovery Room. As part of my regular duties, I had to transfer patients from the PACU to the floor. My duties never got in my way. I love nursing and whatever comes with it. That day, I transported a patient to the floor using the elevator. Out of habit, my eyes followed the elevator’s progress on the lighted display above its door: 1, 2, and, boom! The elevator stopped, trapping me and my groggy patient and his family inside. Instinctively, I started to push some buttons on the elevator panel, hoping it would resume its ride. And wouldn’t you know it, the double doors opened, one to the right and the other to the left. You might think it was a relief. But it was not! Because behind the door there was a wall, a big, solid, white wall with about a 20-inch opening at its bottom—most likely the floor below. I tried to push the buttons on the panel, but nothing happened. The stress started to get to me. My patient appeared asleep and comfortable, unlike his family that had a lot to say and ask—I heard them, but it was as if they were a swarm of bees hovering around me. My breathing became difficult. I felt short of breath and found myself gasping for air. I looked at my patient. Something didn’t seem right. I looked again; this time I observed his chest. No movement. “What happened?” a family member asked. “I’m not sure,” I answered as I calmly stepped closer to the patient. “He’s not breathing,” another family member yelled. Really? I thought. Thanks for letting me know, it’s not like I don’t see it. “Sir,” I shouted to my patient as I grasped his shoulder and shook him briskly. “I’m telling you he’s not breathing,” that family member assured me. Are you a physician or something, why don’t you take over, or do something? I conversed with him in my thoughts as I reassessed my patient. The elevator was stubborn, refusing to resume its work. The situation became overwhelming. The thought of getting on my knees and crawling out through the 20-inch opening vanished once I realized the risks associated with it—if the elevator restarted while I was crawling out, what would happen then? It would slice me in two! I panicked. My knees weakened, and my palms became sweaty. The summer’s temperature penetrated the elevator walls and added to the situation, causing me to breathe faster. I lowered the bed rails so I could get closer to my patient. I didn’t have an Ambu bag or any other CPR barrier devices. The only way I could bring my patient back was to deliver him some air;mouth-to-mouth was my only option. (Please don’t chew me out yet; I know today’s CPR protocol is different—but this incident happened in the mid-80s when two slow breaths were the first thing to do. You would check for a pulse after that.) I leaned toward the patient, not sure that I, myself, had enough air to share with him. I felt beads of sweat rolling down my neck. My sympathetic nerve system shifted gears making my teeth clench. Will I ever open these jaws again? I needed my jaws to open so I could take a deep breath, seal my lips around my patient’s mouth and deliver two slow breaths to him. But my jaws would not open. I pinched myself until I felt pain... my jaws released and I quickly got back on track, performing CPR on my patient. Finally, my patient responded, just when the elevator started to move. Nurses take many stories from their work to the next day, some of which stay for a longer period of time than others, some even for life. I would never think that the physical discomfort I experienced while being trapped in the elevator would recur in similar circumstances. Soon, I realized that I am claustrophobic. My hope that the situation would get better with time was in vain. It was not long before I started exclusively taking the stairs, avoiding elevators altogether. Next, I began booking vacations only where I could get rooms on lower floors or even better, where I could find ground level resorts. Along with that, I learned that being behind a locked door is not an option either; whether it be in a spa treatment, doctor’s appointment…even a bathroom. While this list is long, flights become one of the most significant issues for me…and of course, the longer the flight, the more significant the problem. Not to mention, the smaller the plane, the more stressed out I get. It’s time to board! Stay tuned for Part II of this blog: How To Manage Claustrophobia. Michelle 40 Years Later I’m not the first one to say that Facebook has drastically changed everyone’s lives; providing a cultural and societal melting pot that has transformed the world into the size of a small village. On Facebook, it doesn’t take much effort to find people from the past or to find people to add into your future. I, like most of us, spend valuable time facebooking—time which I probably could use more productively… and while there are not fireworks with every reunion and some, in fact, are not welcomed, some certainly are. Like the outcome of this one: It was over a year ago when a few people from my elementary school class in Israel decided to organize a reunion. Thanks to Facebook, they were able to make it happen. As soon as the group was created, it didn’t take long before the entire class started to follow. Along with this excitement, my thoughts drifted as I started thinking about the teachers from that time. Soon, I was back on Facebook, searching for my favorite teacher. It took a while, but I found her. At the age of 80 she was no longer wearing mini skirts and tall, leather boots, yet she was still stylish and intriguing. There was no end to my excitement. I felt the need to reach out to her over and over again. Soon, we were messaging daily and talking over the phone regularly. I guess that still was not enough for either one of us, and we hoped we would be able to get together soon. With the Atlantic between us, getting together is not easy, unless you are a super motivated, take-charge and spontaneous individual—like my elementary school teacher, who recently texted me, asking if I’ll meet her in New York.
To make a long story short...I’m now packing, getting ready to travel to Manhattan, to meet my teacher from 40 years ago. Who would think that, forty years later, my elementary school teacher would become my dear friend. More about this to follow… Michelle Walking Into My Well-Being It’s Tuesday, October 17, 2017, and I’m still on it, fully committed to changing my schedule so that I can improve my well-being. If you’re a bit puzzled or even clueless to what exactly I’m talking about, take a look at my blog from yesterday, when I realized that I gained 35 lbs. Early this morning I went for my walk. I live in a subdivision with a challenging, hilly landscape, making a walk somewhat tricky. My house is located in a cul-de-sac, and there are not many options when I leave—it’s always to the right and down a steep hill. And I always dread the fact that I’ll have to climb this hill on my way back from the walk. This morning it was in the low 70’s with light clouds. The air was fresh, almost crisp. I looked around, wondering what happened to the fall this year. Why wasn’t it here yet? Hmmm… I looked closer at the trees, noting that nothing has yet to resemble fall foliage. I mean, what else are you going to do on a walk, other than try to distract yourself from the chore of exercising? Most of the leaves were still green, and only a small number of trees were somewhat bare. Apparently, I’m spending too much time in front of the computer; otherwise, I would have noticed this before, and now it’s mid-October. As I progressed I started feeling the stress on my hips—that’s what happens when people are overweight. Next, came the pain. I slowed down a bit, mentally slapping myself for the bad shape I was in—it’s totally my fault. Once I reached the top of the hill and started to walk on a level surface, the stress on my hips decreased and the pain subsided. I accelerated my pace. It didn’t take much to increase my heart rate. Clearly the situation is more severe than what I realized. Shame on me, I thought. I checked the time. It had been 15 minutes since I started walking. I turned around, thinking about the return trip back home—especially that hill at the end. I couldn’t wait to get back and share with you that I did it! I was eager to get back to my computer to check who joined my Facebook group and check if there is anyone out there who was ready to share their experience from their walk today or needed support, or a push.
Now, a half an hour later, I’m still feeling the walk. Yes, it was not easy, but I feel great and am so proud of what I already achieved. As much as a 30 minute walk sounds insignificant, it’s huge for me, because what I did today is way more than what I did yesterday. What’s next? A healthy breakfast, more writing, and later on, another walk. If walking toward your well-being is on your list, please join my group here. More to walk and more on this soon, Michelle Hyphen Hell Have you ever come across a word that you’re unsure if it’s one word or two, hyphenated or not? Here is one for you: wellbeing, well-being, or well being. Which would you choose? Well-being is one of those tricky words that can easily slow me down while I’m writing. So which is correct? Here, let’s go through this together. It’s definitely not well being—you have to trust me on this one until I can explain later. Now, from the two other options that are left, I bet some of you will say that the correct spelling is wellbeing, while others will choose well-being. What if I told you that only one is correct? Would you be surprised? Would you agree, or would you research it? I don’t take anything for granted. I usually take the time to explore a word’s spelling and etymology. When my step-daughter, Ashley, read my blog last week, she rushed to correct me and said that the word should be hyphenated, well-being. Hmmm, I thought and then asked my editor, who got back to me with a different opinion: “It’s one word, wellbeing,” she said. My editor has many years of experience and she also teaches creative writing. Naturally, I should go with her advice. However, since my step-daughter, Ashley, has a B.A. in English and a double master’s, one of which is in print journalism, I couldn’t easily ignore her comment. This morning, while on my early 45-minute walk, it hit me again. I started thinking about you, my readers, who might have this same question as well. I couldn’t just let it go; I had to search further. As soon as I returned home, I was on it. Here is all you need to know about this word: Well-being is a noun. The best synonyms that I can think of for it are wellness and good health. It is an old word, in use for almost five centuries. Well-being has never morphed into a single word. That covers the wellbeing option. And why is well being wrong? Because while these two can appear next to each other in one sentence, they will not convey the same meaning as well-being. While separate, the well is an adjective and the being is a verb. To form a noun, they must be hyphenated. And like I said, well-being is a noun. So the hyphen is a must. I know how easy it is to be a victim of the infinite loop of the Spelling & Grammar tool in Microsoft Word. It happens to me frequently. My spell check still underlines all my well-beings with an ugly green line, suggesting that I write well being or wellbeing. Still, I don’t turn this tool off. I ignore the spell check and search when necessary. Especially with this kind of outcome, it’s a wonderful feeling to be proud of your child who was the one to correct you! I guess paying graduate school tuition was worth it. LOL. Good job, Ashley. I am proud of you! By the way, have you noticed my progress? I already survived a 45-minute walk, which is 15 minutes longer than my first walk days ago. How about you? Were you able to add more minutes to your walk?
Would you agree that this falls into #hyphenhell? Hopefully, you will find this blog helpful rather than confusing. Michelle Time For A Change The further I get into the writing business, the further and further I feel myself drifting away from a lifestyle of well-being. I never thought it would be this way. The truth of the matter is that once I retired from nursing and started to write full-time, I hoped to create a routine that would benefit my health—where I would find the right balance between work and my personal life. I trusted that I could allocate more time toward my well-being: working out, spending more time involved with outdoor activities, relaxing, dieting, etc. But things didn’t turn out the way I had hoped. I quickly sank into the typical life of a writer. You probably envision the life of an author as nothing but glamorous—working from home in your PJ’s or sweats, creating your own schedule, accumulating empty coffee cups throughout the day on a desk piled high with notes. You may be partially right, but sometimes, long days in PJ’s, surrounded by empty coffee cups and endless notes is not exactly as captivating or wonderful as you might think. I can promise you it’s a bumpy lifestyle full of hard work with good days and bad ones…maybe similar to yours. This morning, when I got on the scale, Boom! It hit me again. My weight. That’s it, I reached the limit, I thought. I’m now thirty pounds heavier than when I worked full-time as a nurse. I was devastated, ready to quit this new deskbound career and go back to nursing. As much as I love writing, I realized that I couldn’t continue to sacrifice my health and appearance; I had to prioritize differently. Obviously, the routine I created just doesn’t work. The long, inactive hours in front of the computer; the lack of interaction with people; the bright, glaring screen straining my eyes; the snacks on my desk; and the emotional roller coaster of the characters in my books… are all contributing to the downward spiral of my health. Unless I make some drastic changes, I fear that I may soon find myself dead. I carried myself to my office with heavy steps, devastated, and ready to quit. I closed my eyes, wondering how I allowed myself to get this far. Where have I been all this time? How much more room do I have in these sweats before I need to buy a larger size? I drifted with my thoughts back to the old days when I could slip into a Size 8 dress and show off my well-toned figure. Well, that’s never going to happen again, I thought, as I shook my head. By lunchtime, I had six empty coffee cups on my desk and three empty plates. I paused for a minute, thinking about the unnecessary calories I just consumed. I felt angry and disappointed. Okay, I get it. So, what’s next? Am I really going to quit writing, or should I just find a new trendy diet to follow? Obviously, dieting is not enough. Besides, I find trendy diets to be a waste of money. It’s going to take more than just choosing the right foods. I need to be more active. After spending a few hours in deep contemplation, I came up with a plan. There are a few variables in this deal: Timing and Commitment: I have to feel it’s time to make a change and be committed. Timing is important, if not everything. It needs to happen at the right time. Otherwise, I’m set to fail. Reasonable Plan: I have to put together a reasonable plan, something that I can stick to and be successful at. Prioritizing: I must make my new schedule and all my health-related activities a high priority. Meaning, they come first—no excuses! Small Goals: Big goals are hard to achieve. I need to start small. I would benefit from thinking only in small segments. Losing 35 lbs is an overwhelming task. Dieting and working out daily for the next year is a far-reach. However, dieting for two weeks and losing 5 lbs is a piece of cake. I would rather do the two-week cycle, six times, in order to achieve the long-term goal. So, what’s next for me? Effective tomorrow, I will walk two times a day for 20-30 minutes, as well as follow my own low-fat, low-carb diet—no big tricks or magic here.
I believe it’s not too late to make a change. And if I don’t get to a size 8, then a size 12 will do. If you want to join me on this journey of getting in shape before the holidays and the New Year, then join my group on my Facebook page, where we can motivate and support each other. I am making a change! Will you? Michelle Forever Young? Most mothers are excited to see their child falling for someone, and are ecstatic for the things that typically come with the territory: watching them progress from casual dating into a serious relationship, establishing a home and starting a family. Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? Are you one of these mothers? Have you been there? My daughter has now been dating a guy for a year, and I have yet to meet him. It’s me, not her, who has had all kinds of excuses why this hasn't happened yet. I have refused to be introduced to him. But it has been a year! You know it must be pretty serious. How long can I continue avoiding the situation? I have probably reached the limit. I will now officially be the last in the family to meet this fellow. I guess it is now my turn. Why did I wait so long to meet him?
I think I finally figured it out. I think it’s because I’m the one that’s not ready for her to settle down. I’m the one that’s not ready for her adventures to end. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being married, in fact, it’s been one of the best experiences of my life. I have enjoyed watching my daughters grow up and hearing about all the adventures they have. Today, our children are given so many more opportunities. Their horizons are broader and I’m not done vicariously living through them. Also, deep down, I don’t want to think of myself as “grandmotherly.” I, myself, have been enjoying the changing times and the freedom that that gives and I still feel as if I have yet to live life to the fullest. I’m not quite ready to revisit the world of diapers and babysitting. Also, let’s be honest...I, too, am not ready to acknowledge growing up and getting older. One day, absolutely, and when that day comes, I’m sure I’ll be overjoyed. Yet, with my husband’s little push, I gave in. Drumroll, please! I am excited to share with you that I’m going to meet him tonight. Though I am a bundle of nerves I know that I’m about to meet a great guy. Let’s face it, I don’t expect my daughter to date someone less than that. Were you ever in one of those situations where you haven’t heard someone’s voice for years, yet you would still instantly recognize it the second you heard it? Well, it just happened to me the other day, in the early afternoon hours. It was around 3:00 p.m. on an ordinary day. I was working on my next book in the Pinnacle series when my phone hummed with an unfamiliar number. I picked it up with some reluctance. “Is this Michelle?” A woman’s voice asked. “Wanda?” I answered right away and sunk into a four-hour conversation, catching up on so much. After that long call ended, I couldn’t stop thinking about Wanda. I was truly excited to rekindle an old friendship; we both felt like we had just picked up from last week. Who would think that after 20 years an old friend would still have my number? I guess only a good friend like Wanda, who I met 23 years ago at the University of South Carolina. Back then, we both were already established and experienced in our nursing careers but were ready to pursue it further. Two years later, our paths took different directions as I relocated to another state. While I retired from the nursing field a few years ago to start writing full-time, Wanda is still committed to the nursing profession and doing her job faithfully, just as I remembered. It’s funny how good friends can summarize 20 years into a four-hour conversation and feel like no time has passed at all. Two days later, Wanda purchased my book, Pinnacle Lust, texting me she had already read the excerpts and the sample available online. She sounded excited and said she couldn’t wait for the book to arrive and start reading it. “By the way,” she said, “did you first write the book in Hebrew?” “Why are you asking?” I asked. “I can tell,” she said. “Really?” Even though I know Wanda is very good in English and has an extensive vocabulary, it still hurt my feelings. “Yes, I really can. You know, I could edit this for you,” she said. I’ll admit, writing is a very complex, individualized process. No two authors are going to think or feel about writing in the same way. It was only after I published my first book, Pinnacle Lust, that I realized the courage it takes to publish your own work, far from just writing it. I often hear people say, I want to write a book; others just say, I have so much to write about. And then there are the ones who believe their own life is so captivating, they repeatedly say, My life would make a bestseller. It’s true. Many people want to write a book. We all know that every person has a story to tell in his or her own special way. But is that enough to guarantee someone a bestseller? I’m not sure. I don’t doubt the potential each story has. Our imagination is endless and is often quite inimitable. It takes more than just a plot to make a good book. It’s the way the novel is written; the opening that grabs you, the development of the characters, the twist and turns as the narrative deepens, the suspense, that pinnacle moment, and, of course, the resolution. And still then, it may not be enough. The magic of writing is buried in three things: passion, time and editing. However, one can’t make up for the other. While you are solely responsible for the passion and the time, it’s a bit different when it comes to the editing. You must hire the best, most experienced, editor you can find. Editorial services is a crucial link in the writing process and furthermore in finalizing a manuscript prior to publishing it, or submitting it to an agent. While a good editor can make your book, an average one can harm your work. Thus, it concerns me when amateurs think they can easily edit a book. Many of whom truly believe they could write their own book without using any editorial services. Some are not shy and have offered to edit my work. Let me edit your book… Trust me, I can do it… I took English in college… I’m very good in English… If you want to write a book, then be professional and go through the entire process. Use professional services to build your team: editorial services, book cover designers, etc. Even the most well-known, bestselling authors use professional services…you will be in good company. If you don’t want to write a book and you are not in this business, please don’t offer your services and don’t critique other people’s work. Editing is more than just grammar and punctuation. Creative writing is a world of it’s own. Like I said to Wanda, “Just try to enjoy the book.” Friends forever, Michelle It is already a good three weeks into fall. Before I know it, trick-or-treaters will be knocking at my door. Less than 24 hours later, Christmas decorations will take over and lead us once again into New Year’s Eve. Oh, and let’s not forget that pesky little turkey that will take center stage in most homes in November. You see what I mean? It is the busiest time of the year. I had big plans for the season. I had hoped I would be up and running with my new culinary quest; mass-producing my delicious, lavash, some have even referred to them as “extremely exquisite” crackers. I came so far with my recipe, creating crackers that are not only healthy and tasty but also do not break into a crumbly disaster as they are being consumed. I had envisioned a cracker that has it all—a divine flavor, healthful properties, and no messy aftermath—and had finally perfected the vision. This cracker journey began in the early spring while I was working on my cookbook. Once I started to receive calls and emails, asking if this cracker can be ordered, it got me thinking… Why not make it available for the masses? Really, why not? Well, I quickly realized that it takes more than flour, water and a few other ingredients to make crackers and start selling them. My first stop was the Internet. I googled how to start a business: State and Federal requirements, Food Establishment licenses vs. Cottage licenses, Labels and Nutrition facts, Incubator Kitchens, Shared Kitchens, and the list goes on. If you think that dealing with government regulations is the most difficult thing in life, then you probably need to join me on my journey of finding a commercial kitchen where I could possibly manufacture my crackers. After learning that a Cottage license would not suffice for the business plan I had in mind, I had to go a different route. I had to obtain a license that would allow me to sell my crackers through a third party and across state lines. Meaning, my crackers couldn’t be prepared in my own kitchen; I needed a commercial kitchen. Not a big deal, I thought. I obtained a list of commercial kitchens that are in the business of providing kitchen time for an average fee of $20 per hour, plus (of course) additional fees for dry storage, cold storage, freezer space, etc. All of which are asking a minimum of 20 hours per month with a six month agreement. Then, I calculated how many bags of crackers I would need to sell during the six months in order to pay this kitchen time and showed the numbers to my husband, the businessperson. The support I got from him was amazing. “This is a waste of time. You are not going to make money from crackers,” he said. Still determined, I said, “I’m going to give it a chance, and maybe in a year I’ll build my own kitchen so I can avoid this kitchen time expense.”
I guess that business people will be business people! And when it comes to their own wives, I guess husbands tend to not see all potentially financially risky endeavors through rose-colored glasses...immediately. “I estimate you will need about 100 grand for this. Where exactly are you planning to get this money?” he asked. I know it’s hard to admit, but I do have a smart husband. Albeit, a little less idealistic and creative than myself; but I guess what they say is true; opposites attract. And deep down, I do believe he’s right. I should not invest money in a commercial kitchen; or in anything that I’m not sure if I would get my investment back. It would take me selling lots and lots of crackers just to pay off this kitchen. Finding the path to manufacture my crackers is proving challenging, but something I will continue to pursue, and hope to be able to execute in 2017. More to come… Michelle |
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