It has been a long time coming. A very long time. Like a child one day less than a full year before the next Christmas Eve, anticipation has been building; slowly, evenly, at times almost imperceptibly. I've peeked into those known places where mom and dad would likely have hidden the coming year's gifts, hoping, always hoping to find some hint of the good thing I longed for. Nada. Forever nada. I'm referring here to a building I might finally be able to afford, either to build or to buy. I studio I'd drawn detailed plans for over and over...within the brain cage...hopeful and optimistic but without reason: for I never had enough money to build or to buy: a brutal awareness. Yet relentlessly, I kept peeking into spaces in places where I might just like to settle down permanently. Because there I might find the right mix of creative, lively, friendly, energetic, knowledgeable in areas where I am not and willing to share, people. Artists. Potters. Neighbors. My long sought Christmas present. This one, to myself. In that painful time, the day of my fiftieth birthday when realizing that saving for retirement from making pots was a ludicrous concept, I left creativity behind to pursue a job with a pension...and eight freaking years later, I found it. During that search I'd done work I'd never in my creative dreams considered. I've emptied tanks of filthy, stinking, waste ink at a printing plant and scrubbed away contaminants for which I was denied the M.S.D.S. documents; other times I sold gasoline and did the requisite suggestive sell "large Hershey bar for 69 cents today sir"? over and over again for eight straight hours. Heartbreaking. And I moved into nine different cities before finding the bus driving gig that would offer a sustainable pension after spending just eight more years in the work world. That work also offered enough pay that I was actually able to save a nest egg. And for a solid year during 2017, three different bankers assured me that I had saved enough for a down payment on a commercial building if I could find one, or an acre to build upon. So the search began, and it ended in Bakersville, North Carolina. I found the building I'd dreamed of, the one I'd even designed internally, at a price where my pittance of 10% down would get me in...and now the bankers all said: "no, you need three times that amount, sorry, we were lying to you". Squashed again. Like a palmetto bug beneath a shiny Johnson And Murphy. It takes courage to continue a search when every single avenue is closed. Self confidence, patience, grit, and determination. Then by the grace of an unknowable God, I found a lender for whom 10% down was honestly acceptable. Two lenders, actually, within one month. Mountain Bizworks, a regional lender in Asheville, and the Carolina Small Business Development Fund, a state organization. Bless you both, a dream is about to unfold. The attached photograph was taken when the previous owner first bought it and refinished the floors. Looking exactly the same eighteen years later, Anita offered it for sale. This is the opening I've been searching for. I have the 10 % down, and these lenders are not lying. 10% gets me in the door. This is the reason, I believe, I was born. Located at #7 North Mitchell Avenue, in Bakersville, N.C. where unicorns paint moonbeams and rainbows just before dawn, the opening of David On The corner is slated for less than three weeks away. All of you are hereby formally invited to come for a visit; coffee and a bagel are on the house.